JOSEPH  A.ALT5HELER 


THE  LIBRARY 
OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


THE 

CANDIDATE 

A  POLITICAL  ROMANCE 


BY 


JOSEPH  A.  ALTSHELER 


HARPER     &•     BROTHERS 
NEW       YORK       AND       LONDON 


Copyright,  1905,  by  HARPBR  &  BROTHERS. 

PRINTED  IN  THE  UNITED  STATES  OF  AMERICA 
I-B 


THE    CANDIDATE 


THE    NOMINEE 

THE  huge  convention  -  hall  still  rang  with  the 
thunders  of  applause,  and  most  of  the  delegates 
were  on  their  feet  shouting  or  waving  their  hats, 
when  Harley  slipped  from  his  desk  and  made  his  way 
quietly  to  the  little  side-door  leading  from  the  stage. 
It  was  all  over  now  but  the  noise;  after  a  long  and 
desperate  fight  Grayson,  a  young  lawyer,  with  little 
more  than  a  local  reputation,  had  been  nominated 
by  his  party  for  the  Presidency  of  the  United  States, 
and  Harley,  alert,  eager,  and  fond  of  dramatic  effects, 
intended  to  be  the  first  who  should  tell  him  the  sur 
prising  fact. 

He  paused  a  moment,  with  his  hand  on  the  door, 
and,  looking  out  upon  the  hall  with  its  multitude 
of  hot,  excited  faces,  ran  quickly  over  the  events  of 
the  last  three  or  four  days.  Ten  thousand  people  had 
sat  there,  hour  after  hour,  waiting  for  the  result,  and 
now  the  result  had  come.  The  rival  parties  had 
entered  their  conventions,  full  of  doubt  and  appre 
hension.  There  was  a  singular  dearth  of  great  men; 
the  old  ones  were  all  dead  or  disabled,  and  the  new 
ones  had  not  appeared ;  the  nation  was  conscious,  too, 

i 

633126 


THE    CANDIDATE 

of  a  new  feeling,  and  all  were  bound  to  recognize 
it;  the  sense  of  dependency  upon  the  Old  World  in 
certain  matters  which  applied  to  the  mental  state 
rather  than  anything  material  was  almost  gone;  the 
democracy  had  grown  more  democratic  and  the 
republic  was  more  republican;  within  the  nation 
itself  the  West  was  taking  a  greater  prominence,  and 
the  East  did  not  begrudge  it.  It  was  felt  by  every 
body  in  either  party  that  it  would  be  wiser  to  nominate 
a  Western  man,  and,  the  first  having  done  so,  the 
second,  as  all  knew  it  must,  now  followed  the  good 
example. 

Moreover,  both  conventions  had  nominated  "dark 
horses,"  but  the  second  nominee  was  the  "darker" 
of  the  two.  James  Madison  Grayson,  affectionately 
called  Jimmy  Grayson  by  his  neighbors  and  ad 
mirers,  was  quite  young,  without  a  gray  hair  in  his 
head,  tall,  powerfully  built,  smooth-shaven,  and  with 
honest  eyes  that  gazed  straight  into  yours.  He  was 
known  as  a  brave  man,  with  fine  oratorical  powers 
and  a  winning  personality,  but  he  had  come  to  the 
convention  merely  as  a  delegate,  and  without  any 
thought  of  securing  the  nomination  for  himself.  Not 
a  single  vote  had  been  instructed  for  him,  but  in 
that  lay  his  opportunity.  All  the  conspicuous 
candidates  were  weak;  good  men  in  themselves,  a 
solid  political  objection  could  be  raised  against  every 
one  of  them,  and  for  a  while  the  voting  was  scattered 
and  desultory.  Then  Grayson  began  to  attract  at 
tention;  as  a  delegate  he  had  spoken  two  or  three 
times,  always  briefly,  but  with  grace  and  to  the  point, 
and  the  people  were  glad  both  to  see  him  and  to 
hear  him. 

At  last  a  far-sighted  old  man  from  the  same  state 
knew  that  the  moment  had  come  when  the  convention, 


THE    CANDIDATE 

staggering  about  in  the  dark,  could  be  led  easily  along 
any  road  that  seemed  the  path  of  light.  He  men 
tioned  the  name  of  Grayson,  putting  it  forward 
mildly  as  a  suggestion  that  he  would  withdraw  at 
the  first  opposition,  but  his  very  mildness  warded 
off  attack.  Received  rather  lightly  at  first,  the  sug 
gestion  soon  made  a  strong  appeal  to  the  delegates. 
Nothing  could  be  urged  against  Grayson ;  he  was  quite 
young,  it  was  true,  but  youth  was  needed  to  make 
a  great  campaign — the  odds  were  heavily  in  favor 
of  the  other  party.  Nor  were  there  lacking  those  who, 
expecting  defeat,  said  that  a  young  man  could  bear  it 
better  than  an  old  one,  and  a  beating  now  might 
train  him  for  a  victory  four  years  hence. 

Grayson  himself  was  surprised  when  he  heard  the 
report,  nor  could  he  ever  be  convinced  that  he  would 
be  nominated ;  he  regarded  the  whole  thing  as  absurd, 
a  few  votes,  no  more,  might  be  cast  for  him,  but,  as 
was  fit  and  decent,  he  withdrew  from  the  hall.  All 
those  whose  names  were  before  the  convention  were 
expected  to  remain  at  home  or  elsewhere  in  the  city, 
and  Jimmy  Grayson  and  his  wife  stayed  quietly  in 
their  rooms  at  the  hotel. 

Harley  had  believed  this  evening  that  the  nomina 
tion  of  Grayson  was  at  hand.  It  was  an  intuitive 
sense,  a  sort  of  premonition  that  the  battalions 
were  closing  in  for  the  final  conflict,  and  he  did  not 
doubt  the  result.  He  had  just  returned  from  a  war 
on  the  other  side  of  the  world,  where  he  had  been 
present  as  the  correspondent  of  a  great  New  York 
journal  on  many  battle-fields,  and  he  often  noticed 
this  strained,  breathless  feeling  that  the  moment  had 
come,  just  before  the  combat  was  joined.  Now  this 
convention-hall  was  none  the  less  a  battle-field  though 
the  weapons  were  ballots,  not  bullets,  and  Harley 

3 


THE    CANDIDATE 

believed  in  his  intuition.  At  midnight  the  flood- tide 
swept  in,  bearing  Gray  son  on  its  crest,  and,  when  they 
saw  that  he  was  the  man,  everybody  flocked  to  him, 
making  the  nomination  unanimous  by  a  rising  vote. 

Harley  now  stood  a  moment  at  the  door,  listening 
to  the  cheers  as  they  swelled  again,  then  he  stepped  out 
and  ran  swiftly  down  the  street.  A  fat  policeman, 
taking  him  for  a  fleeing  pickpocket,  shouted  to  him  to 
stop,  but  he  flitted  by  and  was  gone. 

It  was  only  two  or  three  blocks  to  the  hotel,  where 
Mr.  Grayson  sat  quietly  in  his  room,  and  Harley  was 
running  swiftly,  but  in  the  minute  or  two  that  elapsed 
much  passed  through  his  mind.  After  his  long  stay 
abroad  he  had  returned  with  a  renewed  sense,  not 
alone  of  the  power  and  might  of  his  own  country,  but 
also  of  its  goodness ;  it  was  here,  and  here  alone,  that 
all  careers  were  open  to  all ;  nowhere  else  in  the  world 
could  a  relatively  obscure  young  lawyer  have  been 
put  forward,  and  peacefully,  too,  for  the  headship  of 
ninety  million  people.  It  was  this  thought  that 
thrilled  him,  and  it  was  why  he  wished  to  be  the  first 
who  should  tell  the  young  lawyer  of  it.  He  had  made 
the  acquaintance  of  Jimmy  Grayson  the  day  before; 
the  two  had  talked  for  a  while  about  public  questions, 
and  each  had  felt  that  it  was  the  beginning  of  a 
friendship,  so  he  had  no  hesitation  now  in  making 
himself  an  unannounced  herald. 

He  ran  into  the  hotel,  darted  up  the  stairway — 
Jimmy  Grayson's  rooms  were  on  the  first  floor — and 
knocked  at  the  door  of  the  nominee.  A  light  shone 
from  the  transom,  and  he  heard  a  quick,  strong  step 
approaching.  Then  the  door  was  thrown  open  by 
Mr.  Grayson  himself,  and  Mrs.  Grayson,  who  stood 
in  the  centre  of  the  room,  looked  with  inquiry  at  the 
correspondent. 

4 


THE    CANDIDATE 

"Why,  Mr.  Harley,  I'm  glad  to  see  you,"  said  Mr. 
Grayson,  with  a  welcoming  tone  in  his  voice.  "Come 
in,  but  I  warn  you  that  you  cannot  interview  me  any 
further.  I'm  not  worth  it;  I've  told  you  all  I  know." 

Harley  said  nothing,  but  stepped  into  the  room, 
closing  the  door  behind  him.  He  saw  that  they  yet 
knew  nothing — there  had  been  no  messenger,  no 
telephone  call,  and  the  news  was  his  to  tell.  He 
bowed  to  Mrs.  Grayson,  and  then  he  felt  a  moment  of 
embarrassment,  but  his  long  experience  and  natural 
poise  came  quickly  to  his  aid. 

"I  do  want  to  interview  you,  Mr.  Grayson,"  he 
said,  quietly;  "and  it  is  upon  a  subject  to  which  we 
did  not  allude  in  our  former  talk." 

Mr.  Grayson  glanced  at  his  wife,  and  her  look,  reply 
ing  to  his,  indicated  the  same  puzzling  state.  Both 
knew  that  the  chief  correspondent  of  one  of  the 
greatest  journals  in  the  world  would  not  leave  a 
Presidential  convention  in  the  hour  of  birth  to  secure 
an  irrelevant  interview. 

"  If  I  can  serve  you,  Mr.  Harley,  I  shall  be  glad  to 
do  so,"  said  Jimmy  Grayson,  somewhat  dryly;  "but 
I  really  do  not  see  how  I  can." 

"  I  am  quite  sure  that  you  can,"  said  Harley,  with 
emphasis. 

He  listened  a  moment,  but  he  did  not  hear  any 
step  in  the  hall  nor  the  jingling  of  any  telephone 
bell.  Both  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Grayson  waited  expectantly, 
curious  to  see  what  he  had  in  mind. 

"If  you  were  to  be  nominated  for  the  Presidency,  I 
should  like  to  tell  the  Gazette  what  your  programme 
would  be  —  that  is,  what  sort  of  a  campaign  you 
would  conduct,"  said  Harley,  deliberately. 

Mr.  Grayson  laughed  and  glanced  again  at  his  wife. 

"  It  is  a  wise  rule  for  a  man  in  public  life  never  to 
5 


THE    CANDIDATE 

answer  hypothetical  questions;  of  that  I  am  sure,  Mr. 
Harley,"  he  said. 

"I  am  sure  of  it,  too,"  said  Harley. 

Jimmy  Gray  son  bit  his  lip.  It  seemed  to  him 
that  the  correspondent  would  make  a  jest,  and  the 
hour  was  unfitting. 

"I  shall  answer  your  question  when  I  am  nomi 
nated,"  he  said. 

"Then  you  will  answer  it  now,"  said  Harley. 

A  sudden  flush  passed  over  Mr.  Grayson's  face  and 
left  it  white.  Mrs.  Grayson  trembled  and  glanced 
again  at  her  husband,  still  in  a  puzzled  state. 

"Your  meaning  is  not  clear,  Mr.  Harley,"  he  said. 

"It  should  be.  When  I  left  the  convention-hall, 
two  minutes  ago,  they  had  just  made  the  nomination 
unanimous.  I  wished  to  be  the  first  to  tell  the  news, 
and  I  have  had  my  wish." 

The  eyes  of  the  nominee  looked  straight  into  those 
of  Harley,  but  the  correspondent  did  not  flinch.  It 
was  obvious  that  he  was  telling  the  truth. 

"The  notifying  committee  will  be  here  in  a  few 
minutes,"  he  said.  "Ah,  I  hear  their  step  on  the 
stair  now." 

The  tread  of  men  walking  quickly  and  the  sound  of 
voices  raised  in  eagerness  came  to  the  room.  The 
powerful  figure  of  Jimmy  Grayson  trembled  slightly, 
then  grew  rigid. 

"I  did  not  dream  of  it,"  he  said,  as  if  to  himself; 
"nor  have  I  now  sought  to  take  it  from  others." 

"Nor  have  you  done  so,"  said  Harley,  boldly;  "be 
cause  it  belonged  to  no  man." 

Mrs.  Grayson  stepped  forward,  as  if  in  fear  that  her 
husband  was  about  to  be  taken  from  her,  because  at 
that  moment  the  volume  of  the  voices  and  the 
trampling  increased  and  paused  at  her  door,  Then 

6 


THE    CANDIDATE 

the  crowd  poured  into  the  room  and  hailed  the 
victor. 

Harley  slipped  to  one  side,  and  no  one  in  the  com 
mittee  knew  that  the  nominee  had  been  notified  al 
ready,  but  the  correspondent  never  ceased  to  watch 
Jimmy  Grayson.  He  saw  how  the  nature  of  the 
man  rose  to  the  great  responsibility  that  had  been 
put  upon  him,  how  he  nerved  himself  for  his  mighty 
task.  He  stood  among  them  all,  cool,  dignified,  and 
ready.  Harley  was  proud  that  this  was  one  of  his 
countrymen,  and  when  his  last  despatch  was  filed 
that  night  he  wired  to  his  editor  in  New  York: 
"Please  send  me  on  the  campaign  with  Grayson.  I 
think  it  is  going  to  be  a  great  one."  And  back  came 
the  answer:  "Stay  with  him  until  it  is  all  over, 
election  night." 

The  eyes  of  Harley,  like  those  of  so  many  of  his 
countrymen,  had  always  been  turned  eastward.  To 
him  New  York  was  the  ultimate  expression  of  America, 
and  beyond  the  great  city  lay  the  influence  of  Europe, 
of  that  Old  World  to  which  belonged  the  most  of  art 
and  literature.  The  books  that  he  read  were  written 
chiefly  by  Europeans,  and  the  remainder  by  the  men 
of  New  England  and  New  York.  He  had  never  put 
it  into  so  many  words,  even  mentally,  but  he  had  a 
definite  impression  that  the  great  world  of  affairs 
was  composed  of  central  and  western  Europe  and  a 
half-dozen  Northern  coast  states  of  the  American 
Union;  beyond  this  centre  of  light  lay  a  shadow 
land,  growing  darker  as  the  distance  from  the  central 
rays  increased,  inhabited  by  people,  worthy  no  doubt, 
but  merely  forming  a  chorus  for  those  who  had  the 
speaking  parts. 

The  course  of  Harley's  life  confirmed  him  in  this 
opinion,  which  perhaps  was  due  more  to  literature 

7 


THE   CANDIDATE 

than  to  anything  else.  With  his  eyes  fixed  on  New 
York,  the  desire  to  go  there  followed,  and  when  he 
succeeded,  early,  and  became  the  correspondent  of  a 
great  journal,  he  was  soon  immersed  in  the  affairs  of 
that  world  which  seemed  the  world  of  action  to  him ; 
and,  being  so  much  occupied  thus,  he  forgot  the 
regions  which  apparently  lay  in  the  shadow,  including 
the  greater  portion  of  his  own  country. 

Hence  the  two  great  Presidential  conventions,  in 
each  of  which  Western  influences  were  paramount, 
and  in  each  of  which  a  Western  man  was  chosen, 
created  upon  him  a  new  and  surprising  impression. 
He  found  himself  in  the  presence  of  unexpected 
forces;  he  became  aware  that  there  was  another 
way  of  looking  at  things,  and  this  powerful  sensation 
was  deepened  by  the  personality  of  Mr.  Grayson,  in 
whom  he  saw  intuitively  that  there  was  something 
fresh,  original,  and  strong;  he  seemed  less  hackneyed 
and  more  joyous  than  the  types  that  he  found  in  the 
old  states  of  the  Union  or  the  Old  World,  and,  be 
cause  of  this,  the  interest  of  Harley,  whose  mind  had 
a  singularly  keen  and  inquiring  quality,  was  aroused; 
the  regions  that  apparently  lay  in  the  shadow  might 
have  enough  light,  after  all,  and,  seeing  before  him  a 
campaign  not  less  exciting  than  a  war,  he  resolved 
to  stay  in  it  until  the  last  battle  was  fought. 

He  took  out  the  telegram  from  his  editor  and  read 
it  over  again  with  keen  satisfaction.  "Out  of  one 
war  and  into  another,"  he  murmured.  The  con 
ventions  had  been  held  early;  it  was  now  only  the 
first  week  in  June,  and  the  election  would  be  in  the 
first  week  of  November ;  before  him  lay  five  months  of 
stress  and  perhaps  storm,  but  he  thought  of  it  only 
with  pleasure. 

Harley  always  travelled  light,  carrying  only  two 
8 


THE    CANDIDATE 

valises,  and  an  hour  sufficed  for  his  packing.  Then, 
like  the  old  campaigner  that  he  was,  he  slept  soundly, 
and  early  the  next  morning  he  went  again  to  the 
hotel  at  which  the  Graysons  were  staying.  He  felt 
a  little  hesitation  in  sending  up  a  card  so  soon,  know 
ing  what  swarms  of  people  Mr.  Grayson  had  been 
compelled  to  receive  and  how  badly  he  must  stand 
in  need  of  rest,  but  there  was  no  help  for  it. 

While  he  sat  in  the  huge  lobby  waiting  the  return 
of  the  boy,  the  hum  of  many  voices  about  him  rose 
almost  to  a  roar,  varied  by  the  rustling  of  many 
newspapers.  The  place  was  filled  with  men,  talking 
over  the  thrilling  events  of  the  night  before,  the 
nomination  and  the  nominee,  while  every  newspaper 
bore  upon  its  front  page  a  great  picture  of  the  new 
candidate. 

The  boy  came  back  with  a  message  that  Mr.  Gray- 
son  would  see  him ;  and  Harley,  a  minute  later,  was 
knocking  at  the  door,  which  the  candidate  himself 
opened.  This  man,  who  was  his  own  usher,  was  the 
nominee  of  a  great  party,  he  might  become  the 
President  of  the  United  States  —  of  ninety  million 
people,  of  what  was  in  nearly  every  material  sense 
the  first  power  in  the  world;  and  yet  Harley,  when  in 
Europe,  seeking  information  from  the  youngest  and 
least  attache  of  a  legation,  had  been  compelled  to  go 
through  an  infinite  amount  of  form  and  flummery. 
The  contrast  was  lasting. 

"Come  in,"  said  Mr.  Grayson,  courteously,  and 
Harley  at  once  acted  upon  the  invitation.  Mrs. 
Grayson,  at  the  same  moment,  came  from  the  inner 
room,  quiet  and  self-contained,  and  Harley  bowed 
with  respect. 

"I  dare  say  there  is  nothing  you  wish  to  ask  me 
which  a  lady  should  not  hear,"  said  Mr,  Grayson, 

9 


THE    CANDIDATE 

with  a  slight  smile.  "Mrs.  Gray  son  is  my  chief 
political  adviser." 

"It  is  no  secret,"  replied  Harley,  also  smiling.  "I 
have  merely  come  to  tell  you  that  the  Gazette,  my 
paper,  has  instructed  me  to  keep  watch  over  you 
from  now  until  election  night,  and  to  describe  at 
once  and  at  great  length  for  its  readers  every  one  of 
your  wicked  deeds.  So  I  am  here  to  tell  you  that  I 
wish  to  go  along  with  you.  You  are  public  property, 
you  know,  and  you  can't  escape." 

"I  know  that,"  said  Jimmy  Grayson,  heartily; 
"and  I  do  not  seek  to  escape.  I  am  glad  the  repre 
sentative  of  the  Gazette  is  to  be  you.  I  do  not  know 
what  course  your  paper  will  take,  but  I  am  sure  that 
we  shall  be  friends." 

"The  Gazette  is  independent;  its  editor  is  likely  to 
attack  you  for  some  things  and  to  praise  you  for 
others.  But  I  am  here  to  tell  the  news." 

"Then  we  are  comrades  for  a  long  journey,"  said 
Jimmy  Grayson. 

Thus  it  was  settled  simply  and  easily  by  the  two 
who  were  most  concerned,  and  Harley  throughout 
the  little  interview  was  struck  by  the  difference  be 
tween  this  man  and  many  other  famous  men  with 
whom  in  the  course  of  business  he  had  held  jour 
nalistic  dealings.  Here  was  a  lack  of  conventionality, 
and  an  even  stronger  note  of  simplicity  and  freshness. 
The  candidate,  with  his  new  honors,  still  held  himself 
as  one  of  the  people,  it  never  occurred  to  him  that 
he  might  assume  a  pose  and  the  public  would  accept 
it;  he  was  democracy  personified,  and  he  was  such 
because  he  was  unconscious  of  it.  His  perfect  free 
dom  of  manner,  which  Harley  had  not  liked  at  first, 
now  became  more  attractive. 

"We  leave  at  eleven  o'clock  for  my  home,"  said 
10 


THE    CANDIDATE 

Mr.  Grayson,  "and  arrive  there  to-morrow  morning. 
I  have  some  preparations  to  make,  but  I  shall  begin 
the  campaign  a  day  or  two  later." 

"I  intend  to  go  with  you  to  your  town,"  said 
Harley.  "You  know  the  compact;  I  cannot  let  you 
out  of  my  sight." 

Mrs.  Grayson,  a  grave,  quiet  woman,  spoke  for  the 
first  time. 

"You  shall  come  along,  not  merely  as  a  sentinel, 
but  as  one  of  our  little  party,  if  you  will,  on  one 
condition,"  she  said. 

"What  is  that?" 

"  On  condition  that  you  come  to  our  house  and  take 
dinner  with  us  to-morrow." 

Harley  gave  her  a  grateful  look.  He  felt  that  the 
candidate's  wife  approved  of  him,  and  he  liked  the 
approval  of  those  who  evidently  knew  how  to  think. 
And  it  would  be  far  pleasanter  to  travel  with  Jimmy 
Grayson  as  a  friend  than  as  one  suspected. 

"I  am  honored,  Mrs.  Grayson,"  he  said,  "and  I 
shall  be  happy  to  come." 

Then  he  left  them,  and  when  he  passed  into  the  hall 
he  saw  that  the  burden  of  greatness  was  being  thrust 
already  upon  the  Grayson  family,  as  callers  of  various 
types  and  with  various  requests  were  seeking  their 
rooms.  But  he  hurried  back  to  his  own  hotel,  and 
as  it  was  some  distance  away  he  took  the  street-car. 
There  he  was  confronted  by  long  rows  of  newspapers 
which  hid  the  faces  of  men,  and  whenever  a  front  page 
was  turned  towards  him  the  open  countenance  of 
Mr.  Grayson  looked  out  at  him  with  smiling  eyes. 
Everybody  was  reading  the  account  of  the  con 
vention,  and  now  and  then  they  discussed  it;  they 
spoke  of  the  candidate  familiarly;  he  was  "Jimmy" 
Grayson  to  them  —  rarely  did  they  call  him  Mr, 

ii 


THE    CANDIDATE 

Grayson ;  but  there  was  no  disrespect  or  disesteem  in 
their  use  of  the  diminutive  "Jimmy."  They  merely 
regarded  him  as  one  of  themselves,  and  their  position 
in  the  matter  differed  in  no  wise  from  that  of  Mr. 
Grayson;  it  was  a  matter  of  course  with  both.  To 
Harley,  fresh  from  other  lands,  it  seemed  in  the  first 
breath  singular,  and  yet  in  the  second  he  liked  it; 
the  easy  give-and-take  promoted  the  smoothness  of 
life,  and  men  might  assume  false  values,  but  they  were 
not  able  to  keep  them.  His  thoughts  returned  for  a 
moment  to  the  least  little  attach^  whose  manner 
was  more  important  than  that  of  a  Presidential 
nominee. 

Harley,  with  his  two  valises,  was  at  the  station 
somewhat  ahead  of  time,  as  he  wished  to  see  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Grayson  arrive,  curious  to  know  in  what  sort  of 
state  or  lack  of  it  they  would  come. 

Mr.  Grayson's  intention  of  going  at  once  to  his 
home  was  not  published  in  the  press,  and  there  was 
only  the  ordinary  crowd  at  the  station,  some  com 
ing,  some  leaving,  but  all  bearing  upon  their  faces 
the  marks  of  haste  and  impatience.  As  the  people 
hurried  to  and  fro,  the  sound  of  many  tongues  arose. 
There  was  nearly  every  accent  of  Europe,  but  the 
American  rose  over  and  enveloped  all.  Many  writers 
from  other  lands,  seeking  only  the  bad,  had  pro 
nounced  the  Babel  coarse,  vulgar,  and  sordid;  but 
Harley,  seeking  the  good,  saw  in  it  men  and  women 
toiling  to  better  their  condition  in  the  world,  and 
that  fact  he  knew  was  not  bad. 

Through  the  station  windows  he  saw  the  tall 
buildings  rise  floor  on  floor,  and  there  was  a  clang  of 
car -bells  that  never  ceased.  In  the  fresh  morning 
air  it  was  inspiriting,  and  Harley  felt  himself  a  part  of 
the  crowd.  He  was  no  hermit.  Life  and  activity 

12 


THE    CANDIDATE 

and  the  spectacle  of  people  filled  with  hope  always 
pleased  him. 

An  ordinary  cab  arrived,  and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Grayson, 
alighting  from  it,  bought  their  tickets  at  the  window, 
just  like  anybody  else,  and  then  sought  inconspicuous 
seats  in  the  corner  of  the  waiting-room,  as  their  train 
would  not  be  ready  for  five  minutes.  In  the  hasten 
ing  crowd  they  were  not  noticed  at  first,  but  even  in 
the  dusk  of  the  corner  the  smoothly  shaven  face  and 
massive  features  of  Mr.  Grayson  were  soon  noticed. 
His  picture  had  been  staring  at  them  all  from  the 
front  page  of  the  newspapers,  and  here  was  the  reality, 
too  like  to  be  overlooked.  There  was  a  sudden  delay 
in  the  crowd;  the  two  streams,  one  flowing  outward 
and  the  other  inward,  wavered,  then  stopped  and 
began  to  stare  at  the  candidate,  not  intrusively,  but 
with  a  kindly  curiosity  that  it  considered  legitimate. 
Harley  had  quietly  joined  the  Graysoms,  and  they 
gave  him  a  sincere  welcome.  The  people  unfamiliar 
with  his  face  began  to  speculate  audibly  on  his  iden 
tity. 

The  crowd  in  the  station,  reinforced  from  many 
side -doors,  thickened,  and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Grayson, 
under  the  gaze  of  so  many  eyes,  became  uneasy  and 
shy.  Harley,  who  had  been  made  a  member  of  their 
party,  found  himself  sharing  this  awkward  feeling, 
and  he  was  glad  to  hear  the  announcement  that  the 
train  was  ready. 

The  three  abreast  moved  towards  the  gate,  and 
the  crowd  opened  a  way  just  wide  enough,  down 
which  they  marched,  still  under  the  human  battery 
of  a  thousand  eyes.  To  Harley,  although  little  of 
this  gaze  was  meant  for  him,  the  sensation  was 
indescribable.  It  was  something  to  be  an  object 
of  so  much  curiosity,  but  the  thrill  was  more  than 

13 


offset  by  the  weight  that  it  put  upon  one's  ease  of 
manner. 

He  saw  many  of  the  people — it  was  a  curious 
manifestation — reach  out  and  touch  the  candidate's 
sleeve  lightly  as  he  passed.  But  Mr.  Grayson,  if  he 
knew  it,  took  no  notice  and  marched  straight  ahead, 
all  expression  discharged  from  his  face.  Harley  saw 
that  this  was  the  disguise  eminent  public  men  must 
assume  upon  occasions,  and  he  was  willing  that  they 
should  keep  the  task. 

When  the  great  iron  gate  leading  to  his  train  was 
closed  behind  him,  Harley  felt  a  mighty  sense  of  re 
lief.  It  seemed  to  him  that  he  had  run  a  gantlet 
not  much  inferior  to  that  through  which  the  Indians 
put  the  captive  backwoodsmen,  and  the  dark -red 
walls  of  the  car  rose  before  him  a  fortress  of  safety. 

It  was  an  ordinary  Pullman,  and  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Grayson  had  not  secured  the  drawing-room,  but  the 
usual  berths  like  Harley's,  and  he  joined  them  in 
their  seats.  He  felt  now  a  certain  pleasure  in  the 
situation.  The  pressure  of  circumstances  was  mak 
ing  him,  in  a  sense  and  for  the  time  being,  a  mem 
ber  of  their  family.  He  was  glad  that  the  other  cor 
respondents  would  wait  to  join  the  candidate  at  his 
home,  as  it  gave  him  a  greater  chance  to  establish 
those  personal  relations  needful  on  a  long  campaign 
that  must  be  made  together. 

The  whistle  blew,  the  train  moved,  and  they  passed 
through  miles  of  city,  and  then  through  suburbs 
growing  thinner  until  they  melted  away  into  the 
clean,  green  prairie,  and  Harley,  opening  the  win 
dow,  was  glad  to  breathe  the  unvexed  air  that  came 
across  a  thousand  miles  of  the  West.  He  leaned 
back  in  his  seat  and  luxuriously  watched  the  quietly 
rolling  country,  tender  with  the  breath  of  spring,  as 


THE    CANDIDATE 

it  spun  past.  That  mighty  West  of  which  he  had 
thought  so  little  seemed  to  reach  out  with  its  arms 
and  invite  him,  and  he  was  glad  to  go. 

Presently  he  was  aware  of  an  unusual  movement 
of  people  down  the  aisles  of  the  car,  accompanied  by 
a  certain  slowing  of  the  pace  when  they  passed  the 
seats  in  which  the  Graysons  and  he  sat.  They  were 
coming  from  the  other  cars,  too,  and  now  and  then 
the  aisle  would  choke  up  a  little,  but  in  a  moment 
the  shifting  figures  would  relieve  it,  and  the  endless 
procession  of  faces  moved  on. 

The  Graysons,  following  Harley's  example,  were 
gazing  out  of  the  window  at  the  cheerful  country, 
but  the  correspondent  knew  that  Mr.  Grayson  was 
fully  conscious  of  this  human  stream,  and  that  he 
himself  was  the  cause  of  it.  Yet  he  lost  none  of  his 
good  temper  even  when  some,  venturing  further, 
asked  if  he  were  not  the  nominee,  adding  that  it  was 
a  pride  to  them  to  meet  him  and  speak  to  him.  In 
fact,  the  change  from  silence  to  conversation  was  a 
relief  to  Mr.  Grayson,  varying  the  monotony  of  that 
fixed  gaze  to  which  he  had  been  subjected  so  long, 
and  it  was  now  that  'Harley  saw  him  in  a  most  favor 
able  guise.  His  consciousness  of  a  great  talent  did 
not  interfere  with  a  perfect  democracy;  it  did  not 
cause  him  to  assume  an  air  that  said  to  these  peo 
ple,  "I  am  better  than  you,  keep  your  distance,"  but 
he  gave  the  impression  of  ability  solely  through  his 
simplicity  of  manner  and  the  ease  with  which  he 
adapted  himself  to  the  caliber  of  the  person  who 
spoke  to  him. 

Thus  the  train  swung  westward  hour  after  hour, 
and  the  procession  through  the  car  never  ceased.  The 
manner  of  the  candidate  did  not  change;  however 
weary  he  may  have  grown,  he  was  always  affable, 


THE    CANDIDATE 

but  not  gushing,  and  Harley,  watching  keenly,  judged 
that  the  impression  he  made  was  always  favorable. 
He  strove,  too,  to  interpret  this  manner  and  to  read 
the  mind  behind  it.  Was  Mr.  Grayson  really  great  or 
merely  a  man  of  ready  speech  and  pleasing  address? 
Harley  was  willing  to  admit  that  the  latter  were 
qualities  in  themselves  not  far  from  great,  but  on 
the  main  contention  he  reserved  his  judgment.  He 
was  still  divided  in  his  opinions,  sometimes  approv 
ing  the  complete  democracy  of  the  candidate  and 
sometimes  condemning.  He  had  been  born  in  the 
South,  in  a  border  state,  and  he  grew  up  there 
amid  many  of  the  forms  and  formalities  of  the  old 
school,  and  the  associations  of  youth  are  not  easily 
lost.  Nor  had  a  subsequent  residence  in  the  East 
brushed  them  away.  This  world  of  the  West  was 
still,  in  many  respects,  new  to  him. 

He  ate  luncheon  in  the  dining-car  with  the  Gray- 
sons,  and  he  noticed  the  bubbling  joy  of  the  black 
waiter  who  served  them,  and  who  showed  two  rows 
of  white  teeth  in  a  perpetual  smile.  Harley  ap 
preciated  him  so  much  that  he  doubled  his  tip,  but, 
as  they  were  still  watched  by  many  eyes  in  the  din 
ing-car,  he  felt  a  certain  nervousness  in  handling  his 
knife  and  fork,  as  if  the  penalty  of  greatness,  even 
by  association,  were  too  heavy  for  him.  Once  his 
eyes  caught  those  of  Mrs.  Grayson,  and  a  faint,  whim 
sical  smile  passed  over  her  face,  a  smile  so  infectious, 
despite  its  faintness,  that  Harley  was  compelled  to 
reply  in  like  fashion.  It  told  him  that  she  under 
stood  his  constraint,  and  that  she,  too,  felt  it,  but 
Harley  doubted  whether  it  was  in  like  degree,  as  he 
believed  that  in  the  main  women  are  better  fitted 
than  men  to  endure  such  ordeals.  Mr.  Grayson  him 
self  apparently  took  no  notice. 

16 


THE    CANDIDATE 

Harley  returned  to  their  car  with  the  Graysons, 
but  in  the  afternoon  he  detached  himself  somewhat, 
and  came  in  touch  with  the  fluctuating  crowd  that 
passed  down  the  aisle — it  was  always  a  part  of  his 
duty,  as  well  as  his  inclination,  to  know  the  thoughts 
and  feelings  of  outsiders,  because  it  was  outsiders 
who  made  the  world,  and  it  was  from  them,  too, 
that  the  insiders  came. 

Harley  found  here  that  the  chief  motive  as  yet 
was  curiosity;  the  campaign  had  not  entered  upon 
its  sharp  and  positive  state,  and  the  personality  of 
Mr.  Grayson  and  of  his  opponent  still  remained  to  be 
denned  clearly. 

The  train  sped  westward  through  the  granary  of 
the  world,  cutting  in  an  almost  direct  line  across  the 
mighty  valley  of  the  Mississippi,  and  they  were  still 
hundreds  of  miles  away  from  the  Grayson  home. 
In  going  west  both  parties  had  gone  very  far  west, 
and  the  two  candidates  not  only  lived  beyond  the 
Mississippi,  but  beyond  the  Missouri  as  well. 

The  prairies  were  in  their  tenderest  green,  and  the 
young  grass  bent  lightly  before  a  gentle  west  wind. 
In  a  sky  of  silky  blue  little  clouds  floated  and  trailed 
off  here  and  there  into  patches  of  white  like  drifting 
snow,  and  Harley  unconsciously  fell  to  watching 
them  and  wondering  where  they  went. 

The  sun,  a  huge  red  ball,  sank  in  the  prairie,  twi 
light  fell,  the  ordeal  of  the  dining-car  was  repeated, 
and  not  long  afterwards  Harley  sought  his  bed  in  the 
swaying  berth.  The  next  morning  they  were  in  the 
home  town,  and  there  were  a  band  and  a  reception 
committee,  and  Harley  slipped  quietly  away  to  his 
hotel,  being  reminded  first  by  the  Graysons  that  he 
was  to  take  dinner  with  them. 

He  spent  most  of  the  day  wandering  about  the 
i7 


THE   CANDIDATE 

town,  gathering  hitherto  unnoticed  facts  about  the 
early  life  of  Mr.  James  Grayson,  which  in  the  after 
noon  he  despatched  eastward.  Then  he  prepared  for 
dinner,  but  here  he  was  confronted  by  a  serious  prob 
lem — should  one  so  far  west  wear  evening  clothes  or 
not  ?  But  he  decided  at  last  in  the  affirmative,  feeling 
that  it  would  be  the  safe  course,  and,  hiding  the  for 
mality  of  his  raiment  under  a  light  overcoat,  he  went 
forth  into  the  street.  Five  minutes'  walk  took  him  to 
the  house  of  Mr.  Grayson,  which  stood  in  the  out 
skirts,  a  red  brick  structure  two  stories  in  height, 
plain  and  comfortable,  with  a  well-shaded  lawn  about 
it.  It  was  now  quite  dark,  but  lights  shone  from 
several  windows,  and  Harley,  without  hesitation, 
rang  the  bell. 


n 

THE   MAID 

HARLEY'S  ring  was  not  answered  at  once,  and 
as  he  stood  on  the  step  he  glanced  back  at  the 
city,  which,  in  the  dark,  showed  only  the  formless 
bulk  of  houses  and  the  cold  electric  lights  here  and 
there.  Then  he  heard  a  light  step,  and  the  door  was 
thrown  open.  He  handed  his  card  to  the  maid, 
merely  saying,  "Mr.  and  Mrs.  Grayson,"  and  waited 
to  be  shown  into  the  parlor.  But  the  girl,  whose 
face  he  could  not  see,  as  the  hall  was  dimly  lighted, 
held  it  in  her  hand,  looking  first  at  the  name  and 
then  at  him.  Harley,  feeling  a  slight  impatience, 
stepped  inside  and  said: 

"I  assure  you  that  I  am  the  real  owner  of  it — that 
is,  of  the  name  on  the  card." 

"What  proof  have  you?"  she  asked,  calmly. 

Harley  had  heard  recently  many  phases  of  the 
servant-girl  question,  and  this  development  of  it 
amused  him.  She  must  be  one  of  those  ignorant  and 
stubborn  foreigners — a  Swede  or  a  German. 

"Suppose  you  take  the  proof  for  granted  and  risk 
it,"  he  said.  "Mr.  and  Mrs.  Grayson  can  quickly 
decide  for  you,  and  tell  you  whether  I  am  right." 

"They  have  gone  out  for  a  little  walk,"  she  said, 
still  standing  in  the  way,  "and  so  many  strange  peo 
ple  are  coming  here  now  that  I  don't  know  whether  to 
show  you  in  or  not.  Maybe  you  are  a  reporter?" 


THE    CANDIDATE 

"Well,  and  what  then?" 

"Or  worse;  perhaps  you  are  a  photographer." 

"If  I  am,  you  can  see  that  I  have  no  camera." 

"You  might  have  a  little  one  hidden  under  your 
overcoat." 

"  It  is  night,  and  cameras  are  used  in  the  sunshine." 

"We  have  electric  lights." 

Harley  began  to  feel  provoked.  There  were  limits 
to  perverseness,  or  should  be. 

"I  am  expected  to  dinner  by  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Gray- 
son,"  he  said.  "Will  you  kindly  cease  to  keep  me 
waiting  and  show  me  in?  I  shall  not  steal  any  of 
the  furniture." 

The  maid  was  annoyingly  calm. 

"Mr.  and  Mrs.  Grayson  have  not  yet  returned  from 
a  little  walk  which  they  were  afraid  to  undertake 
until  it  grew  dark,"  she  said.  "But  I  think  I'll  risk 
it  and  show  you  in  if  you  will  hold  up  your  hand  and 
swear  that  you  haven't  a  camera  hidden  under  your 
overcoat." 

Harley's  sense  of  humor  came  to  his  aid,  and  he 
held  up  his  hand. 

"I  do  solemnly  swear,"  he  said. 

He  tried  to  see  the  face  of  this  maid,  who  showed 
a  perversity  that  was  unequalled  in  an  experience  by 
no  means  limited,  but  she  stood  in  the  duskiest  part 
of  the  dim  hall,  and  he  failed.  He  knew  merely  that 
she  was  tall  and  slender,  and  when  she  turned  to  lead 
the  way  he  heard  a  faint  sound  like  the  light  tinkle  of 
a  suppressed  laugh.  Harley  started,  and  his  face 
flushed  with  anger.  He  had  encountered  often  those 
who  tried  to  snub  him,  and  usually  he  had  been  able 
to  take  care  of  himself,  but  to  be  laughed  at  by  a 
housemaid  was  a  new  thing  in  his  experience,  and  he 
was  far  from  liking  it. 

20 


THE    CANDIDATE 

She  indicated  a  small  parlor  with  a  wave  of  her 
hand  and  said: 

"You  can  go  in  there  and  wait.  You  have  prom 
ised  not  to  steal  the  furniture,  and,  as  the  room  con 
tains  only  a  piano,  a  table,  and  some  chairs,  all  of 
which  are  too  big  to  be  hidden  under  your  overcoat, 
I  think  that  you  will  keep  your  promise." 

She  sped  lightly  away,  leaving  Harley  trembling 
so  much  with  amazement  and  anger  that  he  forgot 
for  at  least  two  minutes  to  sit  down.  When  he  took 
off  his  overcoat  he  murmured:  "Before  Mr.  Grayson 
thinks  of  ruling  the  United  States  he  should  discipline 
his  own  household." 

The  house  was  quiet ;  he  heard  no  one  stirring  any 
where.  The  light  from  an  electric  lamp  in  the  street 
shone  into  the  parlor,  and  by  its  rays  he  saw  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Grayson  coming  up  the  street.  Then  the 
maid  had  told  the  truth  about  the  "little  walk,"  and 
he  was  early. 

He  leaned  back  in  his  chair  and  watched  the  pair 
as  they  approached  their  own  house.  Evidently  they 
had  stolen  these  few  minutes  in  the  dark  to  be  alone 
with  each  other,  and  Harley  sympathized  with  them, 
because  it  would  be  a  long  time  before  the  wife  could 
claim  again  that  her  husband  was  her  own.  They 
entered  a  side-gate,  passed  through  the  lawn,  and  a 
minute  later  were  welcoming  Harley. 

"We  did  not  expect  to  be  gone  so  long,"  said  Mrs. 
Grayson;  "but  we  see  that  you  have  found  the  right 
place." 

"Oh  yes,"  said  Harley;  "a  maid  showed  me  in." 
Then  he  added:  "I  am  very  glad,  indeed,  to  have 
been  invited  here,  but  if  you  want  any  more  privacy  I 
don't  think  you  should  have  asked  me ;  my  kind  will 
soon  be  down  upon  you  like  a  swarm  of  locusts," 


THE   CANDIDATE 

Mr.  Grayson  laughed  and  took  a  stack  of  telegraph 
envelopes  six  inches  thick  from  a  table. 

"You  are  right,  Mr.  Harley,"  he  said.  "They  will 
be  here  to-morrow,  ready  for  the  start.  There  are 
more  than  twenty  applications  for  space  on  our 
train,  and  all  of  them  shall  have  it.  I  don't  think 
that  the  boys  and  I  shall  quarrel." 

Mrs.  Grayson  excused  herself,  and  presently  they 
were  summoned  to  dinner.  Stepping  out  of  a  dusky 
hall  into  a  brilliantly  lighted  room,  Harley  was 
dazzled  for  a  moment,  but  he  found  himself  bowing 
when  she  introduced  him  to  "My  niece,  Miss  Morgan, 
of  Idaho."  Then  he  saw  a  tall,  slender  girl,  with  a 
singularly  frank  and  open  countenance,  and  a  hand 
extended  to  him  as  familiarly  as  if  she  had  known 
him  all  her  life.  Harley,  although  he  had  not  ex 
pected  the  offer  of  the  hand,  took  it  and  gave  it  one 
little  shake.  He  felt  an  unaccountable  embarrass 
ment.  He  saw  a  faint  twinkle  in  the  girl's  eye,  as 
if  she  found  something  amusing  in  his  appearance, 
and  he  feared  that  he  had  made  a  mistake  in  coming 
in  evening-dress.  He  flushed  a  little  and  felt  a  slight 
resentment  towards  Mrs.  Grayson,  because  she  had 
not  told  him  of  this  niece ;  but  he  was  relieved  for  the 
moment  by  an  introduction  to  the  third  guest,  Mrs. 
Boyle,  an  elderly  lady,  also  a  relative,  but  more 
distantly  so. 

Mrs.  Boyle  merely  bowed,  and  at  once  returned 
Harley  to  the  custody  of  the  niece  from  Idaho,  of 
whom  he  felt  some  fear,  her  singular  freedom  of 
manner  and  the  faint  twinkle  that  still  lurked  in 
her  eye  putting  him  on  edge.  Moreover,  he  was 
assigned  to  a  seat  next  to  her,  and,  as  obviously  he 
was  expected  to  entertain  her,  his  fear  increased. 
This  girl  was  not  only  Western,  but  Far  Western,  and, 

22 


THE    CANDIDATE 

in  his  opinion,  there  was  none  so  wise  who  could  tell 
what  she  would  do  or  say.  He  repeated  to  himself 
the  word  "Idaho,"  and  it  sounded  remote,  rough, 
and  wild. 

"  Uncle  James  tells  me  that  you  are  a  correspondent, 
the  representative  of  the  New  York  Gazette,"  she 
said. 

"Yes." 

"And  that  you  are  to  go  with  him  on  the  campaign 
and  write  brilliant  accounts  of  the  things  that  never 
happen." 

"I  am  sure  that  Mr.  Grayson  was  not  your  au 
thority  for  such  a  statement,"  said  Harley,  with  a 
smile,  although  he  did  not  wholly  relish  her  banter. 

"  Oh  no,  Uncle  James  is  a  very  polite  man,  and  very 
considerate  of  the  feelings  of  others." 

"Then  it  is  a  supposition  of  your  own?" 

"Oh  no,  not  a  supposition  at  all;  the  New  York 
newspapers  sometimes  reach  us  even  in  Idaho." 

Harley  did  not  respond  to  her  banter,  thinking  it 
premature,  as  she  had  never  seen  him  before.  He 
could  not  forget  the  reserve  and  shyness  natural  to 
him,  and  he  felt  a  sense  of  hostility.  He  glanced  at 
her,  and  saw  a  cheek  ruddier  than  the  cheeks  of 
American  women  usually  are,  and  a  chin  with  an 
unusually  firm  curve.  Her  hair  was  dark  brown, 
and  when  the  electric  light  flashed  upon  her  it  seemed 
to  be  streaked  with  dull  gold.  But  the  chin  held  him 
with  an  odd  sort  of  fascination,  and  he  strove  to  read 
her  character  in  it.  "  Bold  and  resolute,"  he  decided, 
"but  too  Western,  entirely  too  Far  Western.  She 
needs  civilizing."  He  was  rather  glad  that  he  was 
going  away  with  Mr.  Grayson  on  the  morrow  and 
would  not  see  her  again. 

"I  should  think,"  she  said;  "that  the  life  of  a 
23 


THE   CANDIDATE 

newspaper  correspondent  is  extremely  interesting. 
You  have  all  the  pleasures  and  none  of  the  re 
sponsibilities;  you  go  to  war,  but  you  do  not  fight; 
you  enter  great  political  campaigns,  but  you  cannot 
be  defeated;  you  are  always  with  the  victor  and 
never  with  the  vanquished;  you  are  not  bound  by 
geographical  limits  nor  by  facts,  nor — " 

"Excuse  me,  Miss  Morgan,"  interrupted  Harley, 
with  dignity.  "In  my  profession,  as  in  all  others, 
there  are  irresponsible  persons,  but  the  great  majority 
of  its  followers  are  conscientious  and  industrious. 
If  you  only  knew  how — " 

"That  sounds  as  if  it  had  been  prepared  in  ad 
vance,"  she  exclaimed.  "I  am  sure  that  you  have 
used  it  many  times  before." 

"You  must  not  mind  Sylvia,"  said  Mrs.  Grayson, 
smiling  her  grave,  quiet  smile.  "She  seldom  means 
what  she  says,  or  says  what  she  means." 

"Aunt  Anna,"  exclaimed  Miss  Morgan,  "you  are 
really  too  hard  upon  your  beloved  niece.  I  never 
before  dined  with  the  staff  correspondent  of  a  great 
New  York  newspaper,  and  I  am  really  seeking  in 
formation.  Now  I  wish  to  know  if  in  his  profession 
imagination  is  the  most  valuable  quality,  as  I  have 
heard  it  said." 

"Do  you  wish  to  embroil  me  with  the  press  so 
early?"  asked  Mr.  Grayson,  laughing. 

"I  have  heard  great  tales  about  them  and  their 
daring,"  she  persisted.  "I  am  not  sure  that  even  now 
he  has  not  a  camera  concealed  under  his  coat." 

"Why,  Sylvia,  what  a  strange  thing  to  say!"  ex 
claimed  Mrs.  Grayson. 

But  Harley  started  in  his  seat  and  flushed  a  deep 
red.  "  Miss  Morgan,  I  shall  have  to  ask  your  pardon," 
he  exclaimed. 

34 


THE    CANDIDATE 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Grayson  looked  at  them  in  surprise. 

"Here  is  something  that  we  do  not  understand," 
said  Mr.  Grayson. 

"Why,  Uncle  James,  there  is  nothing  strange 
about  what  I  have  said,"  continued  Miss  Morgan, 
with  the  most  innocent  face.  "  I  thought  all  of  them 
carried  cameras,  else  how  do  we  get  all  the  wonderful 
pictures?" 

Harley  felt  inclined  to  tell  the  entire  table  his 
experience,  but  on  second  thought  he  remained  silent, 
as  the  girl  from  Idaho  began  to  pique  him,  and  he 
was  not  willing  that  the  advantage  should  remain 
wholly  with  her,  especially  when  she  was  from  the 
very  Far  West.  So  he  affected  complete  indifference, 
and,  when  they  asked  him  about  his  adventures  in  the 
recent  war  on  the  other  side  of  the  world,  he  talked 
freely  about  them,  which  he  had  never  done  before, 
because,  like  most  Americans,  he  was  a  modest  man, 
enduring  in  silence  lectures  on  the  sin  of  boasting  from 
others  who  boasted  as  they  breathed.  Most  of  the 
time  he  spoke  apparently  to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Grayson, 
but  he  kept  a  side-look  upon  the  girl  from  Idaho  who 
had  played  with  him  and  humiliated  him. 

She  became  silent,  as  if  satisfied  with  the  flight  of 
the  arrows  that  had  gone  already  from  her  quiver, 
and  seemed  to  listen  with  an  air  of  becoming  respect ; 
but  Harley  surprised  once  or  twice  the  lurking  twinkle 
in  her  eye,  and  he  was  not  sure  that  she  was  wholly 
subdued.  Opposition  and  difficulties  always  in 
creased  his  resolve,  and  he  doubled  his  efforts.  He 
spoke  lightly  of  the  kingdoms  and  republics  whose 
fortunes  he  had  followed  in  a  casual  way  and  of  the 
men  whom  the  heave  of  affairs  had  brought  to  the 
surface  for  a  space,  and  always  he  kept  that  side- 
look  upon  her.  These  relations,  surely,  would  im- 

25 


THE   CANDIDATE 

press,  because  what  could  she,  a  child  of  the  Idaho 
wilds,  know  of  the  great  world  ?  And  its  very  mystery 
would  heighten  to  her  its  coloring  and  effect. 

Harley  could  talk  well,  all  the  better  because  he 
talked  so  rarely  of  himself,  and  even  now  it  was  of 
himself  only  by  indirection,  because  he  spoke  chiefly 
of  men  whom  he  had  known  and  deeds  that  he  had 
witnessed.  Watching  the  girl  closely  with  that  side- 
look,  he  did  not  see  the  twinkle  reappear  in  her  eye; 
instead  she  sat  demure  and  silent,  and  he  judged 
that  he  had  taken  her  beyond  her  depth.  At  last  he 
stopped,  and  she  said,  in  a  subdued  tone: 

"Did  I  not  tell  you,  Uncle  James,  that  imagination 
was  the  great  quality  the  correspondents  need?" 

Harley  flushed,  but  he  could  not  keep  from  joining 
Mr.  Grayson  in  his  laugh.  The  candidate,  besides 
laughing,  glanced  affectionately  at  the  girl.  It  was 
evident  that  his  niece  was  a  favorite  with  Jimmy 
Grayson. 

"I  shall  ask  Miss  Morgan  to  tell  me  about  Idaho," 
said  Harley. 

"  It's  quite  wild,  you  know,"  she  said,  gravely ;  "  and 
all  the  people  need  taming.  But  it  would  be  a  great 
task." 

When  they  went  back  to  the  drawing-room  Harley 
and  the  girl  were  behind  the  others,  and  he  lingered 
a  moment  beside  her. 

"Miss  Morgan,"  he  said,  "I  want  to  ask  your 
pardon  again.  You  know  it  was  in  the  dark,  and 
mine  was  an  honest  mistake." 

"I  will  if  you  will  tell  me  one  thing." 

"What  is  it?" 

"Have  you  really  got  a  camera  with  you?" 

"  If  I  had  I  should  take  a  picture  of  you  and  not  of 
Mr.  Grayson." 


THE   CANDIDATE 

Harley  remained  awhile  longer,  and  Miss  Morgan's 
treatment  remained  familiar  and  somewhat  discon 
certing,  rather  like  the  manner  of  an  elder  sister  to 
her  young  brother  than  of  a  girl  to  a  man  whom  she 
had  known  only  two  or  three  hours.  When  he  rose 
to  leave,  she  again  offered  him  her  hand  with  perfect 
coolness.  Harley,  in  a  perfunctory  manner,  ex 
pressed  his  regret  that  he  was  not  likely  to  see  her 
again,  as  he  was  to  leave  the  next  day  with  Mr.  Gray- 
son.  The  provoking  twinkle  appeared  again  in  the 
corner  of  her  eyes. 

"I  don't  intend  that  you  shall  forget  me,  Mr.  Har 
ley,"  she  said,  "because  you  are  to  see  me  again. 
When  you  come  to  Washington  in  search  of  news, 
I  shall  be  there  as  the  second  lady  of  the  land — Aunt 
Anna  will  be  first." 

"Oh,  of  course,  I  forgot  that,"  said  Harley,  but  he 
was  not  sure  that  she  had  Washington  in  mind,  re 
membering  Mrs.  Grayson's  assertion  that  she  did  not 
always  mean  what  she  said  nor  say  what  she  meant. 

The  night  was  quite  dark,  and  when  he  had  gone 
a  few  yards  Harley  stopped  and  looked  back  at  the 
house.  He  felt  a  distinct  sense  of  relief,  because  he 
was  gone  from  the  presence  of  the  mountain  girl  who 
was  not  of  his  kind,  and  whom  he  did  not  know  how 
to  take;  being  a  man,  he  could  not  retort  upon  her 
in  her  own  fashion,  and  she  was  able  to  make  him 
feel  cheap. 

The  drawing-room  was  still  lighted,  and  he  saw 
the  Idaho  girl  pass  in  front  of  one  of  the  low  win 
dows,  her  figure  completely  outlined  by  the  luminous 
veil.  It  seemed  to  him  to  express  a  singular,  flexible 
grace — perhaps  the  result  of  mountain  life — but  he 
was  loath  to  admit  it,  as  she  troubled  him.  Harley, 
although  young,  had  been  in  many  lands  and  among 

27 


THE    CANDIDATE 

many  people.  He  had  seen  many  women  who  were 
beautiful,  and  some  who  were  brilliant,  but  it  had 
been  easy  to  forget  every  one  of  them;  they  hardly 
made  a  ripple  in  the  stream  of  his  work,  and  often 
it  was  an  effort  to  recall  them.  He  had  expected  to 
dismiss  this  Idaho  girl  in  the  same  manner,  but  she 
would  not  go,  and  he  was  intensely  annoyed  with 
himself. 

He  went  to  the  telegraph-office,  wrote  and  filed 
his  despatch,  and  then,  lighting  a  cigar,  strolled  slow 
ly  through  the  streets.  It  was  not  eleven  o'clock, 
but  it  seemed  that  everybody  except  himself  was  in 
bed  and  asleep.  The  lights  in  all  the  houses  were 
out,  and  there  was  no  sound  whatever  save  that  of 
the  wind  as  it  came  in  from  the  prairie  and  stirred  the 
new  foliage  of  the  trees.  "And  this  is  our  wicked 
America,  for  which  my  foreign  friends  used  to  offer 
me  sincere  condolences!"  murmured  Harley. 

But  he  returned  quickly  to  his  own  mental  disturb 
ance.  He  felt  as  he  used  to  feel  on  the  eve  of  a  bat 
tle  that  all  knew  was  coming  off,  there  on  the  other 
side  of  the  world.  He  was  then  with  an  army  which 
he  was  not  at  all  sure  was  in  the  right ;  but  when  he 
sat  on  a  hill-top  in  the  night,  looking  at  the  flickering 
lights  of  the  enemy  ahead,  and  knowing  that  the 
combat  would  be  joined  at  dawn,  he  could  not  resist 
a  feeling  of  comradeship  with  that  army  to  which,  for 
a  time — and  in  a  sense,  perhaps,  alien — he  belonged. 
Those  soldiers  about  him  became  friends,  and  the 
enemy  out  there  was  an  enemy  for  him,  too.  It  was 
the  same  now  when  he  was  to  go  on  a  long  journey 
with  Jimmy  Grayson,  who  stood  upon  a  platform  of 
which  he  had  many  doubts. 

He  turned  back  to  the  hotel,  and  when  he  entered 
the  lobby  a  swarm  of  men  fell  upon  him  and  de- 

28 


THE    CANDIDATE 

manded  the  instant  delivery  of  any  news  which  he 
might  have  and  they  had  not.  They  were  corre 
spondents  who  had  come  by  every  train  that  after 
noon  —  Hobart,  Churchill,  Blaisdell,  Lawson,  and 
others,  making  more  than  a  score — some  representing 
journals  that  would  support  Gray  son,  and  others 
journals  that  would  call  him  names,  many  and  bad. 

"We  hear  that  you  have  been  to  dinner  with  the 
candidate,"  said  Churchill,  the  representative  of  the 
New  York  Monitor,  a  sneering  sheet  owned  by  one 
foreigner  and  edited  by  another,  which  kept  its  eye 
on  Europe,  and  considered  European  opinion  final, 
particularly  in  regard  to  American  affairs;  "so  you 
can  tell  us  if  it  is  true  that  he  picks  his  teeth  at  table 
with  a  fork." 

"You  are  a  good  man  for  the  Monitor,  Churchill," 
said  Harley,  sharply.  "Your  humor  is  in  perfect  ac 
cord  with  the  high  taste  displayed,  and  you  show 
the  same  dignity  and  consideration  in  your  refer 
ences  to  political  opponents." 

"Oh,  I  see,"  said  Churchill,  sneering  just  as  he 
had  been  taught  to  sneer  by  the  Monitor.  "He  is 
the  first  guest  to  dine  with  the  Presidential  nominee, 
and  he  is  overpowered  by  the  honor." 

"You  shut  up,  Churchill!"  said  Hobart,  another  of 
the  correspondents.  "You  sha'n't  pick  a  quarrel 
with  Harley,  and  you  sha'n't  be  a  mischief-maker 
here.  There  are  enough  of  us  to  see  that  you  don't." 

Harley  turned  his  back  scornfully  upon  Churchill, 
who  said  nothing  more,  and  began  to  tell  his  friends 
of  Grayson. 

"He  is  an  orator,"  he  said.  "We  know  that  by 
undoubted  report,  and  his  manner  is  simple  and  most 
agreeable.  He  has  more  of  the  quality  called  personal 
magnetism  than  any  other  man  I  ever  saw." 

29 


THE   CANDIDATE 

"What  of  his  ability?"  asked  Tremaine,  the  oldest 
of  the  correspondents. 

Harley  thought  a  little  while  before  replying. 

"I  can't  make  up  my  mind  on  that  point,"  he  said. 
"  I  find  in  him,  so  far  as  I  can  see,  a  certain  simplicity, 
I  might  almost  say  an  innocence,  which  is  remarkable. 
He  is  unlike  the  other  public  men  whom  I  have  met, 
but  I  don't  know  whether  this  innocence  indicates 
superficiality  or  a  tact  and  skill  lying  so  deep  that 
he  is  able  to  plan  an  ambush  for  the  best  of  his  ene 
mies." 

"Well,  we  are  to  be  with  him  five  months,"  said 
Tremaine,  "and  it  is  our  business  to  find  out." 


Ill 

THE    START 

THEY  were  to  start  at  dawn  the  next  day,  going 
back  to  Chicago,  where  the  campaign  would 
be  opened,  and  Harley,  ever  alert,  was  dressing 
while  it  was  yet  dusk.  From  a  corner  of  the  dining- 
room,  where  he  snatched  a  quick  breakfast,  he  saw 
the  sun  shoot  out  of  the  prairie  like  a-  great  red 
cannon-ball  and  the  world  swim  up  into  a  sea  of 
rosy  light.  Then  he  ran  for  the  special  train,  which 
was  puffing  and  whistling  at  the  station,  and  the 
flock  of  correspondents  was  at  his  heels. 

Harley  saw  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Grayson  alighting  from 
a  cab,  and,  satisfied  with  the  one  glance,  he  entered  the 
car  and  sought  his  place.  Always,  like  the  trained 
soldier,  he  located  his  camp,  or  rather  base,  before 
beginning  his  operations,  and  he  made  himself  com 
fortable  there  with  his  fellows  until  the  train  was  well 
clear  of  the  city  and  the  straggling  suburbs  that 
hung  to  it  like  a  ragged  fringe.  Then  he  decided  to 
go  into  the  next  coach  to  see  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Grayson, 
making,  as  it  were,  a  dinner  call. 

The  candidate  and  his  wife  had  taken  the  drawing- 
room,  not  from  any  desire  of  his  for  seclusion  or  as 
an  artificial  aid  to  greatness,  but  because  he  saw  that 
it  was  necessary  if  he  would  have  any  time  for  thought 
or  rest.  Harley  approached  the  compartment,  ex 
pecting  to  be  announced  by  the  porter,  but  a  veiled 


THE    CANDIDATE 

lady  in  the  seat  next  to  it  rose  up  before  him.  She 
lifted  the  veil,  which  was  not  a  disguise,  instead  being 
intended  merely  as  a  protection  against  the  dust  that 
one  gathers  on  a  railroad  journey,  and  Harley  stopped 
in  surprise. 

"And  so  you  see,  Mr.  Correspondent,"  she  said, 
"that  your  farewell  was  useless.  You  behold  me 
again  inside  of  twelve  hours.  I  wanted  to  tell  you 
last  night  that  I  was  going  on  this  train,  as  Uncle 
James  has  great  confidence  in  my  political  judgment 
and  feels  the  constant  need  of  my  advice,  but  I  was 
afraid  you  would  not  believe  me.  So  I  have  pre 
ferred  to  let  you  see  for  yourself." 

She  gave  Harley  a  look  which  he  could  not  inter 
pret  as  anything  but  saucy,  and  his  attention  was 
called  again  by  the  bold,  fine  curve  of  her  chin,  and 
he  was  saying  to  himself:  "A  wild  life  in  the  moun 
tains  surely  develops  courage  and  self-reliance,  but 
at  the  expense  of  the  more  delicate  and  more  at 
tractive  qualities."  Then  he  said  aloud,  and  politely: 

"I  see  no  reason,  Miss  Morgan,  why  you  should 
have  credited  me  with  a  lack  of  faith  in  your  word. 
Have  I  said  anything  to  induce  such  a  belief  in  your 
mind?" 

"No,  you  have  merely  looked  it." 

"I  do  not  always  look  as  I  feel,"  said  Harley,  in 
embarrassment,  "and  I  want  to  tell  you,  Miss  Mor 
gan,  that  I  am  very  glad  you  are  going  with  us  on 
this  Chicago  trip." 

"You  look  as  if  you  meant  that,"  she  said,  gravely; 
"but  if  I  am  to  take  you  at  your  word,  you  mean 
nothing  of  the  kind." 

"I  do  mean  it;  I  assure  you  I  do,"  said  Harley, 
hastily.  "But  are  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Grayson  ready  to 
receive  visitors  ?" 

32 


THE    CANDIDATE 

"That  depends.  I  am  not  sure  that  I  want  Uncle 
James  interviewed  so  early  in  the  day.  At  least  I 
want  to  know  in  advance  the  subject  of  the  inter 
view.  You  can  give  me,  as  it  were,  the  heads  of 
your  discourse.  Come,  tell  me,  and  I  will  render 
a  decision." 

She  regarded  Harley  with  a  grave  face,  and  he  was 
divided  between  vexation  and  a  sort  of  reluctant 
admiration  of  her  coolness.  She  was  bold  and  for 
ward,  not  to  say  impertinent,  but  she  seemed  wholly 
unconscious  of  it,  and,  after  all,  she  was  from  one  of 
the  wildest  parts  of  Idaho.  He  kindly  excused  much 
of  her  conduct  on  the  ground  of  early  association. 

"I  do  not  seek  to  interview  any  one,"  he  said;  "I 
merely  wish  to  pay  my  respects  to  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Grayson,  having  been  their  guest,  as  you  know." 

"Oh,  then  you  can  go  in,"  she  said,  and,  calling 
to  the  porter,  she  told  him  to  announce  Mr.  Harley, 
of  the  New  York  Gazette.  "Of  the  New  York  Ga 
zette"  she  said  again,  with  what  Harley  considered 
unnecessary  repetition  and  emphasis,  and  he  had  a 
new  count  against  her. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Grayson  received  him  with  courtesy, 
even  with  warmth,  and  Harley  saw  that  he  had  made 
new  progress  in  their  esteem.  He  remained  with 
them  only  a  few  minutes,  and  he  said  nothing  about 
the  objectionable  conduct  of  Miss  Morgan,  who  had 
set  herself  as  a  guard  upon  their  door.  He  deemed  it 
wiser  to  make  no  reference  to  her  at  all,  because  she 
was  only  an  insignificant  and  momentary  incident  of 
the  campaign,  not  really  relevant.  Chicago  was 
merely  a  beginning,  and  they  would  drop  her  there. 
When  he  returned  from  the  drawing-room,  she  was 
still  sitting  near  the  door,  and  at  his  appearance  she 
looked  up  pertly. 

-'  33 


THE    CANDIDATE 

"Did  you  find  him  in  a  good -humor?"  she  asked. 

"I  think  Mr.  Grayson  is  always  in  a  good-humor, 
or  at  least  he  is  able  to  appear  so." 

"  I  doubt  whether  perpetual  good-humor,  or  the 
appearance  of  it,  is  desirable.  One  ought  to  make  a 
difference  in  favor  of  friends ;  I  do  not  care  to  present 
an  amiable  face  to  my  enemies.". 

She  pursed  up  her  lips  and  looked  thoughtful. 

"When  Uncle  James  goes  to  Washington  to  take 
the  Presidency,"  she  continued,  "he  will  need  me  to 
protect  him  from  the  people  who  have  no  business 
with  him." 

"I  hope  the  last  remark  is  not  personal?" 

"Oh  no,"  she  said;  "I  recognize  the  fact  that  the 
press  must  be  tolerated." 

Harley  again  felt  piqued,  and,  not  willing  to  re 
tire  with  the  sense  of  defeat  fresh  upon  him,  he  sat 
down  near  her  and  began  to  talk  to  her  of  her  Western 
life.  He  wished  to  know  more  about  the  genesis 
and  progress  of  a  girl  who  seemed  to  him  so  strange, 
but  he  was  not  able  to  confine  her  to  certain  channels 
of  narrative.  She  was  flippant  and  vague,  full  of 
allusions  to  wild  things  like  Indians  or  buffaloes  or 
grizzly  bears,  but  with  no  detailed  statement,  and 
Harley  gathered  that  her  childhood  had  been  in 
complete  touch  with  these  primitive  facts.  Only 
such  early  associations  could  account  for  the  absence 
of  so  many  conventions. 

The  correspondents  who  travelled  with  Harley 
were  mostly  men  of  experience,  readily  adaptable, 
and  the  addition  of  a  new  member  to  Mr.  Grayson' s 
party  could  not  escape  their  attention.  Harley  was 
surprised  and  shocked  to  find  that  all  of  them  were 
well  acquainted  with  Miss  Morgan  inside  of  six  hours, 
and  that  they  seemed  to  be  much  better  comrades 

34 


THE    CANDIDATE 

with  her  than  he  had  been.  Hobart,  the  most  friv 
olous  of  the  lot,  and  the  most  careless  of  speech,  re 
turning  from  the  Grayson  car,  informed  him  that  she 
was  a  "great  girl,  as  fine  as  silk." 

"That's  a  queer  expression  to  apply  to  a  lady," 
said  Harley.  "It  smacks  of  the  Bowery." 

"And  what  if  it  does?"  replied  Hobart,  coolly. 
"I  often  find  the  Bowery  both  terse  and  truthful. 
And  in  this  case  the  expression  fits  Miss  Morgan. 
She's  the  real  article — no  fuss  and  frills,  just  a  daugh 
ter  of  the  West,  never  pretending  that  she  is  what 
she  isn't.  I  heard  her  speak  of  you,  Harley,  and  I 
don't  think  she  likes  you,  old  man.  What  have  you 
been  doing?" 

"I  hope  I  have  been  behaving  as  a  gentleman 
should,"  replied  Harley,  with  some  asperity;  "and 
if  I  have  been  unlucky  enough  to  incur  her  dislike,  I 
shall  endure  it  as  best  I  can." 

He  spoke  in  an  indifferent  tone,  as  if  his  endurance 
would  not  be  severely  tested. 

"But  you  are  missing  a  good  time,"  said  Hobart. 
"There  are  not  less  than  a  dozen  of  us  at  her  feet, 
and  the  Grayson  car  is  full  of  jollity.  I'm  going 
back." 

He  returned  to  the  car,  and  Harley  was  left  alone 
just  then,  as  he  wished  to  be,  and  with  an  effort  he 
dismissed  Miss  Morgan  from  his  thoughts.  Mr.  Gray- 
son  would  speak  that  night  in  Chicago,  and  an  audi 
ence  of  twenty  thousand  people  was  assured;  this 
fact  and  the  other  one,  that  it  would  be  his  initial 
address,  making  the  event  of  the  first  importance. 

Harley  as  a  correspondent  was  able  not  only  to 
chronicle  facts,  which  is  no  great  feat,  but  also  to  tell 
why,  to  state  the  connection  between  them,  and  to 
re-create  the  atmosphere  in  which  those  facts  oc- 

35 


THE    CANDIDATE 

curred  and  which  made  them  possible.  He  was  well 
aware  that  a  fact  was  dependent  for  its  quality — that 
is,  for  its  degree  of  good  or  evil — upon  its  surrounding 
atmosphere,  just  as  a  man  is  influenced  by  the  air 
that  he  breathes,  and  for  this  reason  he  wished  to 
send  in  advance  a  despatch  about  Mr.  Grayson  and 
his  personality  as  created  by  his  birth  and  associa 
tions. 

He  rested  his  pad  on  the  car -seat  and  began  to 
write,  but  Miss  Morgan  intruded  herself  in  the  first 
line.  This  question  of  character,  created  by  en 
vironment,  would  apply  to  her  as  well  as  to  her  uncle ; 
but  Hafley,  angrily  refusing  to  consider  it,  tore  off 
the  sheet  of  paper  and,  throwing  it  on  the  floor, 
began  again.  The  second  trial  was  more  successful, 
and  he  soon  became  absorbed  in  the  effort  to  de 
scribe  Mr.  Grayson  and  his  remarkable  personality, 
which  might  be  either  deep  and  complex  or  of  the 
simplest  Western  type. 

As  he  wrote  Harley  became  more  and  more  ab 
sorbed  in  his  subject,  and  with  the  absorption  came 
spontaneity.  He  did  not  know  how  well  he  was 
writing,  nor  what  a  vivid  picture  he  was  presenting 
to  the  vast  Eastern  population  to  whom  Jimmy  Gray- 
son  was  as  yet  but  a  name.  It  was  a  despatch  that 
became  famous,  reprinted  all  over  the  Union,  and 
quoted  as  the  first  description  of  the  candidate  as  he 
really  was — that  is,  of  the  man.  And  yet  Harley,  read 
ing  it  days  later,  recognized  in  it  something  that 
nobody  else  saw.  It  was  a  blend.  In  every  fourth 
line  Sylvia  Morgan  again,  and  despite  his  efforts, 
had  obtruded  herself.  He  had  borrowed  something 
from  her  to  add  to  Jimmy  Grayson,  and  he  felt  that 
he  had  been  seeking  excuses  for  her  manner. 

But  this  fact  did  not  impinge  upon  Harley  now, 
36 


THE    CANDIDATE 

when  he  read  the  despatch  preparatory  to  filing  it 
at  Chicago.  He  merely  felt  that  he  had  made  an  at 
tempt  to  solve  Jimmy  Grayson,  and  in  doing  so  had 
fulfilled  his  duty. 

As  he  folded  up  the  article  the  loud  voice  of  Hobart 
hailed  him  from  the  other  end  of  the  car,  and  he  be 
held  that  irresponsible  man  entering  with  the  candi 
date's  niece. 

"You  see  what  he  has  been  about  all  this  time, 
Miss  Morgan?"  said  Hobart.  "He  has  been  at  work. 
Harley,  you  know,  is  the  only  conscientious  man 
among  us." 

"I  have  remarked  already  his  devotion  to  duty," 
she  said,  sedately;  "but  do  you  think,  Mr.  Hobart, 
we  should  disturb  him  now?  We  do  not  know  that 
he  has  finished  his  task." 

Harley  flushed.  He  did  not  wish  to  be  thought  a 
prig  or  one  who  made  a  pretence  of  great  industry, 
and,  although  Miss  Morgan's  voice  was  without  ex 
pression,  he  believed  that  irony  lay  hidden  some 
where  in  it. 

"You  are  mistaken,"  he  said;  "my  work  is  over, 
for  the  time,  at  least.  It  was  something  that  had  to 
be  done,  or  I  should  not  have  stolen  off  here  alone." 

Then  he  went  back  with  them  to  the  Grayson  car, 
where  a  joyous  group  had  gathered.  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Grayson  were  in  the  drawing-room,  with  the  door 
shut,  working  upon  the  candidate's  speech  at  Chicago, 
Harley  surmised,  and  hence  there  was  no  restraint. 
Of  this  group  the  girl  from  Idaho  was  the  centre  and 
the  sun.  She  seemed  to  be  on  good  terms  with  them 
all,  to  the  great  surprise  of  Harley,  who  had  known 
her  longer  than  they,  and  who  had  not  been  able  to 
get  on  with  her  at  all,  and  he  sat  rather  on  the  fringe 
of  the  throng,  saying  but  little. 

37 


THE    CANDIDATE 

Again  she  inspired  him  with  hostility;  she  seemed, 
as  before,  too  bold.j  too  boisterous,  too  much  the 
mountain  maid,  althbugh  he  could  not  analyze  any 
particular  incident  as  wrong  in  itself.  And  clearly 
she  had  won  the  liking,  even  the  admiration,  of  his 
associates,  all  of  whom  were  men  of  wide  experience. 
Tremaine,  the  dean  of  the  corps,  a  ruddy,  white-haired 
old  fellow,  who  had  written  despatches  from  the 
Russo-Turkish  war,  which  was  ancient  history  to 
Harley,  warmed  visibly  to  Miss  Morgan.  "It  is  al 
ways  the  way  with  those  old  gallants,"  was  Harley 's 
silent  comment.  But  he  had  never  before  character 
ized  Tremaine  in  such  a  manner. 

He  was  afraid  of  her  sharp  tongue,  knowing  that 
a  woman  in  such  respects  is  never  averse  to  taking 
an  unfair  advantage  of  a  man;  but  she  paid  no  heed 
to  him,  talking  with  the  others  and  passing  over  him 
as  if  he  had  not  been  present;  and,  while  this  was 
what  he  wanted  in  the  first  place,  yet,  now  that  he 
had  it,  he  resented  it  as  something  undeserved. 
But  if  she  would  not  speak  to  him,  he,  too,  would  keep 
silence,  a  silence  which  he  was  convinced  had  in  it 
a  disdainful  quality;  hence  it  was  not  without  a  cer 
tain  comfort  and  satisfaction. 

But  Harley  was  forced  to  admit  that  if  she  was  of 
the  bold  and  boisterous  type,  she  was  a  favorable 
specimen  within  those  unfavorable  limits.  While  she 
was  familiar,  in  a  measure,  with  these  men,  yet  she 
was  able  to  keep  them  at  the  proper  distance,  and 
no  one  presumed,  in  any  respect.  She  radiated 
purity  and  innocence,  and  it  was  to  ignorance  only 
that  Harley  now  charged  her  faults. 

They  reached  Chicago  the  next  morning,  and  at 
noon  Hobart  knocked  at  the  door  of  Harley's  room 
at  the  hotel. 

38 


THE    CANDIDATE 

"There  is  some  idle  time  this  afternoon,"  said 
Hobart,  "and  Tremaine  and  I  have  asked  Miss  Mor 
gan  to  go  driving.  She  has  accepted,  but  it  takes 
four  to  make  a  party,  and  you  are  the  lucky  fourth." 

He  allowed  no  protestations,  and,  after  all,  Har- 
ley,  who  had  been  under  much  strain  for  some  time, 
was  not  averse  to  an  hour  or  two  in  the  fresh  air. 

"Miss  Morgan  has  never  been  in  Chicago  before," 
said  Hobart,  "and  it  is  our  duty  to  show  it  to 
her." 

Hobart,  who  drove,  put  Miss  Morgan  upon  the 
seat  beside  him,  and  Tremaine  and  Harley,  who  sat 
'behind,  occupied  what  was  to  some  extent  the  post 
of  disadvantage;  but  Tremaine,  safe  in  his  years, 
would  not  permit  the  rear  seat  to  be  neglected.  He 
talked  constantly,  and  her  face,  of  necessity,  was 
often  turned  to  them,  giving  Harley  opportunity  to 
see  that  it  had  a  most  becoming  flush. 

She  had  an  eager  interest  in  everything — the  tall 
buildings,  the  wind-swept  streets,  and  the  glimpses 
of  the  wide,  green  lake.  Harley  saw  that  Chicago 
bulked  much  more  largely  in  her  imagination  than 
in  his,  and  he  began  to  fear  that  he  had  been  neglect 
ful;  it  was  the  most  concrete  expression  of  the  West, 
and,  as  the  greatest  achievement  of  a  new  people  in 
city  building,  it  deserved  attention  for  qualities  pe 
culiarly  its  own,  and  there  could  be  no  doubt  either 
of  Miss  Morgan's  admiration  or  pleasure.  She  was 
seeking  neither  for  the  old  nor  the  picturesque,  which 
are  not  always  synonymous,  but  was  in  full  sym 
pathy  with  the  fresh,  active,  and,  on  the  whole,  joyous 
life  around  her.  It  was  sufficient  to  her  to  be  a  part 
of  the  human  tide,  and  to  feel  by  contact  the  keen 
ness  and  zest  of  the  human  endeavor.  She  was  not 
troubled  by  the  absence  of  ruins. 

39 


THE   CANDIDATE 

"But  the  city  is  flat  and  unpicturesque,"  once 
said  Harley. 

"All  the  better,"  she  rejoined.  "I  have  so  much 
of  silence  and  grandeur  in  Idaho  that  I  enjoy  the 
sight  of  two  million  people  at  work  on  this  billiard- 
table  that  is  Chicago.  I  like  my  own  kind,  I  like 
to  talk  to  it  and  have  it  talk  to  me.  I  suppose  that 
the  mountains  have  a  voice,  but  the  voice  is  too  big 
for  perpetual  conversation  with  a  poor  little  mortal 
like  myself.  After  a  while  I  want  to  come  down  to 
my  own  level,  and  I  find  it  here." 

Harley  glanced  at  her.  The  flush  was  still  on  her 
face,  and  there  was  a  soft  light  in  her  eyes.  He' 
could  not  doubt  that  she  was  sincere,  and  she  started 
in  his  mind  thoughts  that  were  not  altogether  new 
to  him;  he  wondered  if  excessive  reverence  for  the 
antique  did  not  indicate  a  detachment  from  the  pres 
ent,  and  therefore  from  life  itself,  and,  as  a  logical 
sequence,  a  lack  of  feeling  for  one's  own  kind.  He 
had  heard  an  elderly  man  from  Chicago,  dragged 
about  by  his  wife  and  daughters  in  Rome,  exclaim 
in  disgust,  "I  would  not  give  a  single  street  corner 
in  Chicago  for  all  Rome!"  The  elderly  Chicagoan 
had  been  drowned  in  derisive  laughter,  but  Harley 
could  understand  his  point  of  view,  and  now,  as  he 
remembered  him,  he  had  for  him  a  fellow-feeling. 

Hobart  took  them  through  many  streets,  one  much 
like  another,  and  then  over  a  white  asphalt  drive  be 
side  the  great  lake.  The  shores  were  low,  but  to 
Harley  the  lake  had  the  calm  restlessness  and  ex 
panse  of  the  sea,  and  the  wind  had  the  same  keen 
tang  that  comes  over  miles  of  salt.  He  saw  the  girl's 
eyes  linger  upon  the  vast  sheet  of  green,  and  the  in 
cipient  hostility  that  he  felt  towards  her  disappeared 
for  a  time.  Somewhere  in  her  nature,  strait  though 

40 


THE    CANDIDATE 

the  place  might  be,  there  was  a  feeling  for  fine  things, 
and  he  felt  a  kindred  glow. 

They  were  rather  quiet  when  they  drove  back  tow 
ards  the  hotel,  but  she  spoke  at  last  of  her  uncle 
James  and  his  speech  that  night,  which  might  justify 
the  expectations  of  either  his  friends  or  his  enemies. 
There  had  grown  up  lately  in  the  theatrical  world  a 
practice  of  "  trying  a  new  piece  on  the  dog  " — that  is, 
of  presenting  it  first  in  some  small  town  which  was 
not  too  particular — but  now  the  political  world  was 
moving  differently  in  this  particular  case.  The  can 
didate  was  to  make  his  first  appearance  in  one  of  the 
greatest  of  cities,  before  two  million  people,  so  to 
speak,  and  the  ordeal  would  be  so  severe  that  Harley 
found  himself  apprehensive  for  Jimmy  Grayson's  sake. 
The  feeling  was  shared  by  his  niece. 

"You  don't  think  he  will  fail,  do  you?"  she  said,  in 
an  appealing  tone  to  Hobart. 

"Fail!"  replied  that  irrepressible  optimist.  "He 
can't  fail!  The  bigger  the  crowd  the  better  he  will 
rise  to  the  occasion." 

But  she  did  not  seem  to  be  wholly  convinced  by 
Hobart's  cheerfulness,  which  was  too  general  in  its 
nature — that  is,  inclusive  of  everything — and  turned 
to  Harley  and  Tremaine  as  if  seeking  confirmation. 

"It  will  be  a  terrible  test,"  said  Harley,  frankly, 
"but  I  feel  sure  that  Mr.  Grayson  will  pass  it  with 
glory.  He  is  a  born  orator,  and  he  has  courage." 

"I  thank  you  for  your  belief,"  she  said,  giving 
Harley  a  swift  glance  of  gratitude,  and  unaccount 
ably  he  felt  a  pleasing  glow  at  the  first  gracious 
words  she  had  ever  spoken  to  him. 

"I  could  not  bear  it  if  he  failed,"  she  continued. 
"He  is  my  uncle,  and  he  is  our  own  Western  man. 
What  things  would  be  in  the  newspapers  to-morrow!" 

41 


THE   CANDIDATE 

"If  Mr.  Grayson  should  fail  to-night,  he  would  re 
cover  himself  at  his  second  speech;  he  has  your 
spirit,  you  know,"  said  the  ancient  Tremaine. 

But  she  did  not  seem  to  relish  his  elderly  gallantry. 
"How  do  you  know  I  have  spirit?"  she  asked.  "I 
have  done  nothing  to  indicate  it." 

"  I  inferred  it,"  replied  he,  bowing,  but  she  only  lift 
ed  her  chin  incredulously,  and  Tremaine  subsided, 
his  suppression  giving  Harley  some  quiet  enjoy 
ment. 

They  returned,  chiefly  in  silence,  to  the  hotel. 
The  dusk  was  coming  down  over  the  great  city,  and 
with  it  a  grayish  mist  that  hid  the  walls  of  the  build 
ings,  although  the  electric  lights  in  lofty  stories 
twinkled  through  it  like  signal-fires  from  hill-tops. 
Miss  Morgan  seemed  subdued,  and  at  the  hotel  door 
she  said  to  them  in  dismissal:  "  I  thank  you;  you  have 
given  me  much  pleasure." 

"I  rather  think  that  she  is  wrapped  up  in  Mr. 
Grayson's  success,"  said  Hobart,  "and,  as  she  inti 
mates,  it  will  come  pretty  near  to  breaking  her  heart 
if  he  fails." 

In  the  lobby  Harley  met  Churchill,  of  the  Monitor, 
and  Churchill,  as  usual,  was  sneering. 

"I  imagine  that  Grayson  will  make  a  display  of 
provincialism  to-night,"  he  said.  "America  will  have 
to  blush  for  herself.  I  have  copies  of  the  Monitor, 
and  all  our  London  cables  show  the  greatest  amaze 
ment  in  Great  Britain  and  on  the  Continent  that  we 
should  put  up  such  an  outr6  Western  character  for 
President,  one  of  the  Boys,  you  know." 

"The  Grayson  of  the  Monitor  is  not  the  Grayson 
of  reality,"  replied  Harley,  "and  the  opinion  of 
Europe  does  not  matter,  because  Europe  knows 
nothing  about  Mr.  Grayson." 

42 


THE   CANDIDATE 

"Oh,  I  see!  You  are  falling  under  the  influence," 
said  Churchill,  nastily. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  demanded  Harley. 

But  Churchill  would  not  answer.  He  sauntered 
away  still  sneering.  Harley  looked  after  him  angrily, 
but  concluded  in  a  few  moments  that  his  wrath  was 
not  worth  while — Churchill,  trained  to  look  always 
in  the  wrong  direction  could  never  see  anything 
right. 


IV 

THE   FIRST   SPEECH 

WHEN  Harley  started  at  an  early  hour  for  the 
vast  hall  in  which  Mr.  Grayson  was  to  speak, 
he  realized  that  there  was  full  cause  for  the  trepida 
tion  of  his  feminine  kind — perhaps  in  such  moments 
women  tremble  for  their  men  more  than  they  ever 
tremble  for  themselves — and  he  had  plenty  of  sym 
pathy  for  Mrs.  Grayson  and  Miss  Morgan.  The 
city,  astir  with  the  coming  speech,  was  free  to  express 
in  advance  its  opinion  of  it,  both  vocally  and  through 
its  press,  which  was  fairly  divided — that  is,  one-half 
was  convinced  that  it  would  be  an  overwhelming 
triumph,  and  the  other  half  was  equally  sure  that  it 
would  be  a  failure  just  as  overwhelming. 

Harley  had  in  his  pocket  a  copy  of  his  own  paper — 
the  Gazette — the  latest  to  reach  him,  and  he  had  read 
it  with  the  greatest  care,  but  he  saw  that  it  remained 
independent ;  so  far,  it  neither  endorsed  nor  attacked 
Grayson ;  and,  also,  he  had  a  telegram  from  his  editor 
instructing  him  to  narrate  the  events  of  the  evening 
with  the  strictest  impartiality,  not  only  as  concerned 
facts,  but,  above  all,  to  transmit  the  exact  color  and 
atmosphere  of  the  occasion.  "I  know  that  this  is 
hard  to  do,"  he  said,  but  with  the  deft  and  useful 
little  compliment  that  a  wise  employer  knows  how 
to  put  in  at  the  end,  he  added:  "I  am  sure  that  you 

44 


THE    CANDIDATE 

can  do  it."  And  he  knew  his  man;  Harley  would 
certainly  do  it. 

Harley,  seated  in  an  obscure  corner  of  the  stage, 
but  one  offering  many  points  of  vantage  for  his  own 
view,  saw  the  vast  crowd  come  quickly  into  the  hall, 
among  the  largest  in  the  world,  and  he  heard  the  hum 
of  voices,  in  which  he  thought  he  could  distinguish 
two  notes,  one  of  favor  and  one  of  attack.  Yet  the 
audience  was  orderly,  and  on  the  whole  the  element  of 
curiosity  prevailed.  The  correspondent,  quick  to 
read  such  signs,  saw  that  the  people  had  an  open 
mind  in  regard  to  Jimmy  Grayson ;  it  was  left  to  the 
candidate  to  make  his  own  impression.  Churchill 
took  a  seat  near  him  and  began  to  annoy  him  with 
depreciatory  remarks  about  Grayson,  not  spoken  to 
Harley  in  particular,  but  to  the  wide  world.  Hobart 
once  said  that  Churchill  needed  no  audience,  prefer 
ring  to  talk  to  the  air,  which  could  make  no  reply  of 
its  own,  but  must  return  an  echo. 

Harley  saw  Mrs.  Grayson  and  her  niece  slip  quietly 
into  a  box,  sitting  well  back,  where  they  could  be 
seen  but  little  by  the  audience;  and  then,  knowing 
that  Mr.  Grayson  had  arrived,  he  went  behind  the 
wings,  where  the  candidate  sat  waiting. 

Mr.  Grayson  received  him  with  a  calm  and  pleas 
ant  word ;  if  his  family  were  in  a  tremble,  he  was  not ; 
at  least  he  was  able  to  hide  any  apprehension  that 
he  might  feel,  and  he  remarked,  jestingly:  "It  is 
apparent  that  I  will  have  an  audience,  Mr.  Harley; 
they  will  not  ignore  me." 

"No,  you  are  a  good  puller,"  rejoined  Harley. 

There  were  some  dry  preliminaries — introductory 
remarks  by  the  chairman  and  other  necessary  bores — 
and  then  the  audience  began  to  call  for  Grayson.  The 
speech  would  be  reported  in  full  by  short-hand,  for 

45 


which  mechanical  work  the  staff  correspondent 
always  hires  a  member  of  that  guild,  and  Harley  was 
free  for  the  present.  He  resolved  to  go  into  the  box 
with  Mrs.  Grayson  and  Miss  Morgan,  but  he  changed 
his  mind  when  he  glanced  at  their  faces.  There  was 
pallor  in  their  cheeks,  and  their  whole  attitude  was  of 
strained  and  intense  waiting.  For  them  the  crucial 
moment  had  come,  and  Harley  had  too  much  human 
ity  to  disturb  them,  even  with  well-meant  efforts,  at 
such  a  moment. 

The  hum  in  the  crowd  increased  to  a  roar,  a 
thunderous  call  for  Grayson,  but  there  was  a  pause 
on  the  stage,  where  no  figures  moved.  The  chairman 
glanced  uneasily  towards  the  wings  and  shuffled 
in  his  seat  as  if  he  did  not  know  what  to  do,  but  his 
apprehension  did  not  last  long. 

The  candidate  appeared,  coming  forward  with  a 
steady  step,  his  face  pale  and  apparently  inex 
pressive;  but  Harley  could  see  that  the  eyes,  usually 
so  calm,  were  lighted  up  by  a  fire  from  within. 
Suddenly  all  his  fear  for  Grayson  sank  away ;  it  came 
upon  him  with  the  finality  of  a  lightning  flash  that 
here  was  a  man  who  would  not  fail,  and  by  an  un 
known  impulse  he  looked  from  the  candidate  to  the 
box  in  which  Miss  Morgan  sat.  She  seemed  to  have 
read  his  faith  in  his  eyes,  for  a  look  of  relief,  even  joy, 
came  over  her  face. 

This  intuition  of  the  two  was  justified,  as  the 
candidate  did  not  have  to  conquer  his  audience.  He 
held  it  in  his  spell  from  the  opening  sentence;  the 
golden  and  compelling  oratory,  afterwards  so  famous, 
was  here  poured  before  the  greater  world  for  the  first 
time.  Harley  listened  to  the  periods,  smooth  but 
powerful,  and  he  could  not  throw  off  their  charm; 
some  things  were  said  of  which  he  was  not  sure,  and 

46 


THE    CANDIDATE 

others  with  which  he  positively  disagreed,  but  for 
the  time  they  all  seemed  true.  Jimmy  Gray  son  be 
lieved  them — there  could  be  no  doubt  of  it;  every 
word  was  tinged  with  the  vivid  hue  of  sincerity — 
that  was  why  they  held  the  audience  in  a  spell  that 
it  could  not  escape;  these  were  convictions,  not 
arguments  that  he  was  speaking,  and  the  people 
received  them  as  such.  Moreover,  he  was  always 
clear  and  direct,  he  had  a  Greek  precision  of  speech, 
and  there  was  none  in  the  audience  who  could  not 
follow  him. 

Harley,  no  orator  himself,  had  in  the  course  of  his 
profession  heard  much  oratory,  some  good,  much 
bad,  and  even  now  he  struggled  against  the  charm 
of  Grayson's  voice  and  manner,  and  sought  to  see 
what  lay  behind  them.  Was  there  back  of  this 
golden  veil  any  great  originating  or  executive  power, 
or  was  he,  like  so  many  others  who  speak  well,  a 
voice  and  nothing  more?  An  orator  might  win  the 
Presidency  of  the  United  States,  but  his  gift  would  not 
necessarily  qualify  him  to  administer  the  office.  It 
was  a  tribute  to  Barley's  power  of  will  or  detachment 
that  he  was  able  at  such  a  time  to  ask  himself  such  a 
question. 

But  he  forgot  these  after- thoughts  in  the  pleasurable 
sympathy  that  his  view  of  the  candidate's  wife  and 
niece  aroused.  Their  faces  were  illumined  with  joy. 
Feeling  his  spell  so  strongly  themselves,  they  knew 
without  looking  that  the  audience  felt  it,  too,  and  the 
evening  could  be  no  fuller  for  them.  Here  he  was, 
a  hero  not  only  for  his  womenkind,  but  for  all  whom 
his  womenkind  could  see,  and  Harley  thought  that 
under  the  influence  of  this  feeling  Miss  Morgan's 
features  had  become  very  soft  and  feminine.  The 
curve  of  the  jaw  was  gentle  rather  than  firm,  and 

47 


THE   CANDIDATE 

now  in  her  softer  moments  it  seemed  to  Harley  that 
something  might  be  made  of  this  mountain  girl,  say 
by  the  deft  hands  of  an  Eastern  and  older  woman. 
Then  he  blushed  at  himself  for  such  a  condescending 
thought,  and  turned  to  his  task — that  is,  the  effort  to 
reproduce  for  readers  in  New  York,  the  next  morning, 
the  atmosphere  of  that  evening  in  a  Chicago  hall,  and 
the  exact  relation  that  Mr.  Grayson,  the  people,  and 
the  events  of  the  hour  bore  to  each  other. 

Harley  was  a  conscientious  man,  interested  in  his 
work,  and  when  he  gave  the  last  page  of  the  despatch 
to  a  telegraph-boy  the  speech  was  nearly  over.  He 
said  emphatically  that  it  was  a  success,  that  the 
audience  was  brought  thoroughly  under  the  spell,  but 
whether  this  spell  would  endure  after  the  candidate 
was  gone  he  did  not  undertake  to  prophesy.  The 
coldest  and  most  critical  seeker  after  truth  and 
nothing  but  the  truth  could  have  found  no  fault  with 
what  he  wrote. 

He  gave  the  last  page  of  the  despatch  to  the 
telegraph -boy,  and  entered  the  secluded  box  that 
held  Mrs.  Grayson  and  Miss  Morgan.  Two  elderly 
Chicago  men,  who  played  at  politics  and  who  were 
warm  enthusiasts  for  Grayson,  were  there,  and  Harley 
was  introduced  to  them.  But  he  talked  to  them 
only  as  long  as  politeness  demanded,  and  then,  with 
all  sincerity,  he  congratulated  Mrs.  Grayson  on  her 
husband's  triumph. 

"I  never  had  a  doubt  of  it,"  she  replied,  her  voice 
tremulous,  and  honestly  forgetful  in  the  glory  of  the 
moment  of  all  the  fears  that  had  been  assailing  her 
a  few  hours  ago.  "I  knew  what  he  could  do." 

Harley  turned  presently  to  Miss  Morgan,  and  he 
spoke  in  the  same  vein  to  her,  but  she  asked,  with  some 
asperity,  "Did  you  think  he  could  fail?" 

48 


THE    CANDIDATE 

"Failure  is  possible,  I  suppose,  in  the  case  of 
anybody." 

"But  you  do  not  know  our  Western  spirit." 

"I  am  learning." 

Her  gentleness  was  gone.  She  resented  what  she 
chose  to  consider  an  attempt  at  patronage  of  the 
West,  and  Harley  again  was  made  the  target  for  the 
arrows  of  her  sarcasm.  Yet  he  did  not  resent  it  with 
his  original  acerbity;  custom  was  dulling  the  sharp 
edge  of  her  weapons,  and,  instead  of  wounding  him, 
they  rather  provoked  and  drew  him  on.  He  was  able 
to  reply  lightly,  to  suggest  vaguely  the  crudities  of 
Idaho,  and  to  incite  her  to  yet  more  strenuous  battle 
for  her  beloved  mountains. 

But  both  ceased  to  talk,  because  the  candidate  was 
approaching  his  climax,  and  the  grand  swell  of  his 
speech  had  in  it  a  musical  quality  that  did  not  de 
tract  from  its  power  to  carry  conviction.  Then  he 
closed,  and  the  thunders  of  applause  rose  again  and 
again.  At  last,  after  bowing  many  times  to  the 
gratified  audience,  he  came  back  to  the  box,  and  his 
niece,  her  eyes  shining  with  delight,  sprang  up,  as  if 
driven  by  an  impulse,  and,  throwing  her  arms  about 
his  neck,  kissed  him.  The  act  was  seen  by  many,  and 
it  was  applauded,  but  Harley  did  not  like  it;  her 
emotion  seemed  to  him  too  youthful,  to  smack  too 
little  of  restraint — in  short,  to  be  too  Western.  De 
spite  himself,  he  frowned,  and  when  she  turned  back 
towards  the  box  she  saw  the  frown  still  upon  his  face. 
There  was  an  instant  fiery  flash  in  her  eye,  and  she 
drew  herself  up  as  if  in  haughty  defiance,  but  she 
said  nothing  then,  nor  did  she  speak  later  when  she 
left  with  the  Graysons,  merely  giving  him  a  cold 
good-night  bow. 

Harley  lingered  a  little  with  the  other  correspond- 
4  49 


THE    CANDIDATE 

ents,  and  was  among  the  last  to  leave  the  building. 
He  was  thinking  of  the  Idaho  girl,  but  he  did  not 
fail  to  notice  what  was  going  on,  and  he  saw  a  group 
of  middle-aged  or  elderly  men,  the  majority  of  them 
portly  in  figure  and  autocratic  in  bearing,  follow  the 
trail  of  Jimmy  Grayson.  Although  familiar  with  the 
faces  of  only  one  or  two  in  the  group,  he  knew  in 
stinctively  who  they  were.  It  was  a  gathering  of 
the  great,  moneyed  men  of  the  party,  eager  to  see 
the  attitude  of  Grayson  upon  affairs  that  concerned 
them  intimately,  and  prompt  to  take  action  in  ac 
cordance.  They  were  the  guardians  of  "vested"  in 
terests,  interests  watched  over  as  few  things  in  this 
world  are,  and  they  were  resolved  to  see  that  they 
took  no  harm.  But  the  speech  of  the  night  had 
been  general  in  its  nature,  a  preliminary  as  it  were, 
and  Harley  judged  that  they  would  do  nothing  as 
yet  but  skirmish  upon  the  outskirts,  keeping  a  wary 
eye  for  the  main  battle  when  it  should  be  joined. 

"Did  you  notice  them?"  asked  white-haired  Tre- 
maine  in  his  ear. 

"Oh  yes,"  replied  Harley,  who  knew  at  once  what 
he  meant;  "  I  watched  them  leave  the  hall." 

"One  gets  to  know  them  instinctively,"  said  Tre- 
maine.  "I've  seen  them  like  a  herd  of  bull-dogs — if 
such  animals  travelled  in  herds  —  on  the  heels  of 
every  presidential  candidate  for  the  last  forty  years, 
and  that  covers  ten  campaigns.  But  I  suppose  they 
have  as  much  right  to  look  after  their  interests  as  the 
farmer  or  mechanic  has  to  look  after  his." 

"Yet  it  is  worth  while  to  watch  them,"  said  Har 
ley,  and  all  in  the  group  concurred. 

They  were  to  leave  in  the  afternoon  for  Milwaukee, 
which  gave  plenty  of  time  for  rest,  and  Harley,  who 
needed  it,  slept  late.  But  when  he  rose  and  dressed 

50 


THE    CANDIDATE 

he  went  forth  at  once,  after  his  habit,  for  the  morning 
papers,  buying  them  all  in  order  to  weigh  as  well  as 
he  could  the  Chicago  opinion  of  Grayson.  The  first 
that  he  picked  up  was  sensational  in  character,  and 
what  he  saw  on  the  front  page  did  not  please  him  at 
all.  There  was  plenty  of  space  devoted  to  Grayson, 
but  almost  as  much  was  given  to  an  incident  of  the 
evening  as  to  Grayson  himself.  There  was  a  huge 
picture  of  a  beautiful  young  girl  throwing  her  arms 
around  Jimmy  Grayson's  neck,  and  kissing  him  en 
thusiastically.  The  two  occupied  the  centre  of  the 
stage  close  to  the  foot-lights,  and  twenty  thousand 
people  were  frantically  cheering  the  spectacle.  By 
the  side  of  this  picture  was  another,  a  perfectly  cor 
rect  portrait  of  Miss  Morgan,  evidently  taken  from  a 
photograph,  and  under  it  were  the  lines:  "Jimmy 
Grayson's  Egeria — the  Beautiful  Young  Girl  Who  Fur 
nishes  the  Western  Fire  for  His  Speeches." 

And  then  in  two  columns  of  leaded  type,  under  a 
pyramid  of  head-lines,  was  told  the  story  of  Sylvia 
Morgan.  Flushed  with  enthusiasm,  the  account  said, 
she  had  come  from  Idaho  to  help  her  uncle,  the  can 
didate.  Although  only  eighteen  years  of  age — she 
was  twenty-two — she  had  displayed  a  most  remark 
able  perception  and  grasp  of  politics  and  of  great 
issues.  It  was  she,  with  her  youthful  zeal,  who  in 
spired  Mr.  Grayson  and  his  friends  with  courage  for 
a  conflict  against  odds.  He  consulted  her  daily  about 
his  speeches;  it  was  she  who  always  put  into  them 
some  happy  thought,  some  telling  phrase  that  was 
sure  to  captivate  the  people.  In  a  pinch  she  could 
make  a  speech  herself,  and  she  would  probably  be 
seen  on  the  stump  in  the  West.  And  she  was  as 
beautiful  as  she  was  intellectual  and  eloquent;  she 
would  be  the  most  picturesque  feature  of  this  or  any 


THE    CANDIDATE 

campaign  ever  waged  in  America.  It  continued  in 
this  vein  for  two  columns,  employing  all  the  latest 
devices  of  the  newest  and  yellowest  journalism,  of 
which  the  process  is  quite  simple,  provided  you  have 
no  conscience — that  is,  you  take  a  grain  of  fact  and 
you  build  upon  it  a  mountain  of  fancy,  and  the 
mountain  will  be  shaped  according  to  the  taste  of 
the  builder. 

Harley  would  have  laughed — these  things  always 
seemed  to  him  childish  or  flippant  rather  than  wicked 
— if  it  had  not  been  for  the  photograph.  That  was 
too  real;  it  was  exactly  like  Sylvia  Morgan,  and  it 
implied  connivance  between  the  newspaper  and  some 
body  else.  In  Idaho  it  might  have  one  look,  but 
here  in  Chicago  it  would  have  another,  and  in  New 
York  it  would  have  still  another  and  yet  worse.  She 
ought  to  see  the  true  aspect  of  these  things.  To 
Harley,  reared  with  the  old-fashioned  Southern  ideals, 
from  which  he  never  departed,  it  was  all  inexpressi 
bly  distasteful — he  did  not  stop  to  ask  himself  why 
he  should  be  more  concerned  about  the  picture  of 
Miss  Morgan  than  those  of  many  other  women  whom 
he  saw  in  the  newspapers — and  his  feeling  was  not 
improved  by  the  entrance  of  Churchill  and  his  sneer 
ing  comment. 

"A  good  picture  of  her,"  said  Churchill.  "These 
Western  girls  like  such  things.  Of  course  she  sent 
it  to  the  newspaper  office." 

"I  do  not  know  anything  of  the  kind,  nor  do  you, 
I  think,"  replied  Harley,  with  asperity.  "Nor  am  I 
aware  that  the  West  is  any  fonder  than  the  East  of 
notoriety." 

"  Have  it  any  way  you  wish,"  said  Churchill,  super 
ciliously.  "But  I  fail  to  see  why  you  should  disturb 
yourself  so  much  over  the  matter." 


THE    CANDIDATE 

His  tone  was  so  annoying  that  Harley  felt  like 
striking  him,  but  instead  ignored  him,  and  Churchill 
strolled  carelessly  on,  humming  a  tune,  as  he  had 
seen  insolent  people  on  the  stage  do  in  such  mo 
ments. 

Harley  thrust  the  newspaper  into  his  pocket,  and 
went  into  one  of  the  ladies'  parlors,  where  he  saw 
Miss  Morgan  sitting  by  a  window  and  looking  out 
at  the  hasty  life  of  Chicago.  She  did  not  hear  his 
approach  until  he  was  very  near,  and  then,  starting 
at  the  sound  of  his  footsteps,  she  looked  up,  and  her 
cheeks  flushed. 

"It  should  be  a  happy  day  for  you,"  said  Harley, 
"and  I  suppose  that  you  are  enjoying  the  triumph." 

"Why  should  I  not?"  she  replied.  "I  have  a 
share  in  it." 

"So  you  have,  and  the  press  has  recognized  it." 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"I  was  just  looking  at  a  very  good  picture  of  you," 
said  Harley,  and  he  spread  the  paper  before  her, 
hoping  that  she  would  express  surprise  and  distaste. 
But  she  showed  neither. 

"Oh,  I've  seen  that  already,"  she  said,  quite  cool 
ly.  "  Don't  you  think  it  a  good  picture  ?" 

"I  have  no  fault  to  find  with  the  likeness,"  replied 
Harley,  with  some  meaning  in  his  tone. 

"  Then  what  fault  have  you  to  find  ?" 

Harley  was  embarrassed,  and  hesitated,  seeking  for 
the  right  words — what  did  it  matter  to  him  if  she 
failed  to  show  the  reserve  that  he  thought  part  of  a 
gentlewoman's  nature. 

"You  infer  more  than  I  meant,"  he  said,  at  last. 
"I  merely  felt  surprise  that  they  should  have  ob 
tained  a  photograph  so  quickly." 

The  slightly  deepened  flush  in  her  cheeks  remained 
53 


THE    CANDIDATE 

and  she  surveyed  him  with  the  same  cool  air  of  de 
fiance. 

"They  would  have  had  a  picture,  anyhow,  some 
thing  made  up;  was  it  not  better,  then,  to  furnish 
them  a  real  one  than  to  have  a  burlesque  published  ?" 

"It's  hardly  usual,"  said  Harley,  more  embar 
rassed  than  ever.  "But  really,  Miss  Morgan,  I  have 
no  right  to  speak  of  it  in  any  connection." 

"No,  but  you  were  intending  to  do  so.  It  was  in 
your  eye  when  I  looked  up  and  saw  you  coming 
towards  me." 

Her  voice  had  grown  chilly,  and  her  gaze  was  fixed 
on  Harley.  The  Western  girl  certainly  had  dignity 
and  reserve  when  she  wished  them,  but  he  did  not 
believe  that  she  chose  the  right  moments  to  display 
these  admirable  qualities. 

"I  did  not  know  that  I  had  such  a  speaking  coun 
tenance,"  said  Harley.  "And  even  if  so,  you  must 
not  forget  that  you  might  read  it  wrong." 

"I  do  not  think  so,"  she  said,  still  chilly,  and, 
glancing  up  at  the  clock,  she  added:  "It  is  almost 
twelve,  and  I  promised  Aunt  Anna  to  be  with  her  a 
half -hour  ago." 

At  the  door  she  paused,  turned  back,  and  a  flash 
ing  smile  illuminated  her  face  for  a  moment. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Harley,"  she  said,  "don't  you  wish  some 
newspaper  would  print  your  picture?" 

Then  she  was  gone,  leaving  him  flushed  and  ir 
ritated.  He  was  angry,  both  at  her  and  himself;  at 
himself  because  he  had  expected  to  rebuke  her,  to 
show  her  indirectly  and  in  a  delicate  way  where  she 
was  wrong,  and  he  had  never  even  got  as  far  as  the 
attack.  It  was  he  who  had  been  put  upon  the  de 
fence,  when  he  had  not  expected  to  be  in  such  a 
state,  and  his  self-satisfaction  suffered.  But  he  told 

54 


THE    CANDIDATE 

himself  that  she  was  a  crude  Western  girl,  and  that 
it  was  nothing  to  him  if  she  forced  herself  into  the 
public  gaze  in  a  bold  and  theatrical  manner. 

A  little  later  all  left  for  Milwaukee,  where  Mr. 
Grayson  was  to  make  another  great  speech  in  the 
evening,  and  Harley  again  refrained  from  joining  the 
group  that  soon  gathered  around  Miss  Morgan,  and 
Mrs.  Grayson,  also,  who,  being  in  a  very  happy  mood, 
made  a  loan  of  her  presence  as  a  chaperon,  she  said, 
although,  being  a  young  woman  still,  it  gave  her 
pleasure  to  hear  them  speak  of  her  husband's  brilliant 
triumph  the  night  before,  and  to  enjoy  the  atmos 
phere  of  success  that  enveloped  the  car. 

The  run  from  Chicago  to  Milwaukee  is  short,  but 
Harley,  despite  his  pique  —  he  was  young  and  nat 
urally  of  a  cheerful  temperament  —  might  have 
joined  them  before  their  arrival  if  his  attention  had 
not  been  attracted  by  another  group,  that  body  of 
portly,  middle  -  aged  men,  heavy  with  wealth  and 
respectability,  who  had  silently  cast  a  dark  shadow 
upon  the  meeting  at  Chicago.  They  were  men  of 
power,  men  whose  brief  words  went  far,  and  they 
held  in  their  hands  strings  that  controlled  many  and 
vast  interests  when  they  pulled  them,  and  their  hands 
were  always  on  the  strings.  They  were  not  like 
the  great,  voluble  public ;  they  worked,  by  choice  and 
by  opportunity,  in  silence  and  the  dark,  and  their  kind 
has  existed  in  every  rich  country  from  Babylonia  to 
the  United  States  of  America.  They  were  the  great 
financial  magnates  of  Jimmy  Grayson's  party,  and 
nothing  that  he  might  do  could  escape  their  notice 
and  consideration.  It  was  more  than  likely  that  in 
the  course  of  the  campaign  he  would  feel  a  great 
power  pressing  upon  him,  and  he  would  not  be  able  to 
~.ay  who  propelled  it. 

55 


THE    CANDIDATE 

Harley  knew  some  of  these  men  by  name ;  one,  the 
leader  of  the  party,  a  massive,  red-faced  man,  was 
the  Honorable  Clinton  Goodnight,  a  member  of  the 
Lower  House  of  Congress  from  New  York,  but 
primarily  a  manufacturer,  a  man  of  many  millions; 
and  the  younger  and  slenderer  man,  with  the  del 
icately  trimmed  and  pointed  beard,  was  Henry 
Crayon,  one  of  the  shrewdest  bankers  in  Wall  Street. 
These  two,  at  least,  he  knew  by  face,  but  no  trained 
observer  could  doubt  that  the  others  were  of  the 
same  kind. 

Although  silent  and  as  yet  casting  only  a  shadow, 
Harley  felt  that  sooner  or  later  these  men  would 
cause  trouble.  He  had  an  intuition  that  the  cam 
paign  before  them  was  going  to  be  the  most  famous 
in  the  Union,  dealing  with  mighty  issues  and  infused 
with  powerful  personalities.  Great  changes  had 
occurred  in  the  country  in  the  last  few  years,  its 
centre  of  gravity  was  shifting,  and  the  election  in 
November  would  decide  many  things.  He  felt  as 
if  all  the  forces  were  gathering  for  a  titanic  conflict, 
and  his  heart  thrilled  with  the  omens  and  presages. 
It  was  a  pleasurable  thrill,  too,  because  he  was  going 
to  be  in  the  thick  of  it,  right  beside  the  general  of 
one  of  the  great  armies. 

When  they  reached  Milwaukee,  Harley  and  all  the 
correspondents  went  to  the  same  hotel  with  the  Gray- 
sons,  and  they  remarked  jocularly  to  the  nominee  that 
they  would  watch  over  him  now  night  and  day  until 
the  first  Tuesday  in  November,  and  he,  being  a  man 
of  tact  and  human  sympathies,  without  any  affecta 
tions,  was  able  to  be  a  good  fellow  with  them  all, 
merely  a  first  among  his  equals. 

There  was  a  great  crowd  at  the  station,  ready  to 
welcome  the  candidate,  and  the  sound  of  shouting 

56 


THE    CANDIDATE 

and  joyous  welcome  arose;  but  Harley,  anxious  to 
reach  the  hotel,  slipped  from  the  throng  and  sprang 
into  a  carriage,  one  of  a  number  evidently  waiting  for 
the  Grayson  party.  It  was  a  closed  vehicle,  and  he 
did  not  notice  until  he  sat  down  that  it  was  already 
occupied,  at  least  in  part,  by  a  lady.  Then  he 
sprang  up,  red-faced  and  apologetic,  but  the  lady 
laughed — a  curious  little  laugh,  ironic,  but  not  wholly 
unpleasant — and  put  out  a  detaining  hand,  detaining 
by  way  of  gesture,  because  she  did  not  touch  him. 

"You  are  very  much  surprised  to  find  me  here, 
Mr.  Harley,"  said  Miss  Morgan.  "You  thought,  of 
course,  that  I  would  be  in  the  centre  of  that  crowd,  re 
ceiving  applause  and  shaking  hands,  just  as  if  I  were 
a  candidate,  like  my  uncle  James.  You  would  not 
believe  me  if  I  told  you  that  I  came  here  to  escape  it." 

"Why  shouldn't  I  believe  it?" 

"Because  I  am  going  to  tell  you  that  your  dis 
pleasure  over  the  picture  has  made  me  feel  so  badly 
that  I  am  resolved  to  do  better,  to  be  more  modest, 
more  retiring." 

"Miss  Morgan,  you  do  me  wrong,"  said  Harley, 
with  reddening  face.  "  I  have  had  no  such  thoughts." 

"You  fib  in  a  good  cause,  but  you  cannot  deceive 
me;  I  read  your  thoughts,  but  I  am  very  forgiving, 
and  I  am  resolved  that  we  shall  have  a  pleasant  ride 
to  the  hotel  together.  Now,  entertain  me,  tell  me 
about  that  war,  of  which  you  saw  so  much." 

She  was  not  in  jest,  and  she  compelled  him  to  talk. 
It  was  far  from  the  station  to  the  hotel,  and  she 
revealed  a  knowledge  of  the  world's  affairs  that 
Harley  thought  astonishing  in  one  coming  from  the 
depths  of  the  Idaho  mountains.  She  touched,  too, 
upon  the  things  that  interested  him  most,  and  drew 
him  on  until  he  was  talking  with  a  zest  and  interest 

57 


THE    CANDIDATE 

that  permitted  no  self-consciousness.  Resolved  that 
he  would  not  tell  what  he  had  seen,  and  by  nature 
reserved,  he  was,  within  five  minutes,  under  her  deft 
questions,  in  the  middle  of  a  long  narrative  of  events 
on  the  other  side  of  the  world.  He  saw  her  listening, 
her  eyes  bright,  her  lips  slightly  parted,  and  he  knew 
that  he  held  her  attention.  He  was  aware,  too,  that 
he  was  flattered  by  the  interest  that  he  had  been  able 
to  create  in  the  mind  of  this  Idaho  girl  whose  opinion 
he  had  been  holding  so  cheaply. 

"I  envy  a  man,"  she  said,  at  last,  sighing  a  little. 
"You  can  go  where  you  please  and  do  what  you  please. 
Even  our  'advanced  women'  have  less  liberty  than 
the  man  who  is  not  advanced  at  all.  And  yet  I  do 
not  want  to  be  a  man.  That,  I  suppose,  is  a  paradox." 

Harley  was  about  to  make  a  light  reply,  something 
in  the  tone  of  perforced  compliment,  but  a  glimpse 
of  her  caused  him  to  change  his  mind.  She  seemed 
to  have  a  touch  of  genuine  sadness,  and,  instead,  he 
said  nothing. 

When  the  carriage  reached  the  ladies'  entrance 
of  the  hotel  they  were  still  silent,  and  as  Harley 
helped  her  from  the  carriage  her  manner  was  un 
changed.  The  little  touch  of  sadness  was  yet  there, 
and  it  appealed  to  him.  She  surprised  his  look  of 
sympathy,  and  the  color  in  her  cheeks  increased. 

"I  am  tired,"  she  said.  "I  just  begin  to  realize 
how  greatly  so  much  travelling  and  so  many  crowds 
weigh  upon  one." 

Then,  with  the  first  smile  of  comradeship  that  she 
had  given  him,  she  went  into  the  hotel. 

The  Graysons,  Miss  Morgan,  Harley,  Hobart,  and 
a  few  others  formed  a  family  group  again  at  the 
table,  when  they  dined  that  evening,  and  all  the 
tensity  and  anxiety  visible  the  day  before  was  gone. 


THE    CANDIDATE 

Mr.  Grayson's  success  in  Chicago  had  been  too 
complete,  too  sweeping  to  leave  doubt  of  its  con 
tinuance;  he  would  be  the  hero  and  leader  of  his 
party,  not  a  weight  upon  it,  and  the  question  now  was 
whether  or  not  the  party  had  votes  enough;  hence 
there  was  a  certain  light  and  joyous  air  about  them 
which  gave  to  their  short  stay  in  the  dining-room  a 
finer  flavor  than  any  that  a  chef  could  add. 

Churchill,  of  the  Monitor,  was  not  one  of  this 
party.  Churchill  did  not  confine  his  criticisms  to  his 
professional  activities,  but  had  a  disposition  to  carry 
them  into  private  life,  injecting  roughness  into  social 
intercourse,  which  ought  to  be  smooth  and  easy. 
Therefore,  somewhat  to  his  own  surprise,  which 
ought  not  to  have  been  the  case,  he  had  not  become 
a  member  of  this  family  group,  and  had  much  to  say 
about  the  "frivolous  familiarity"  of  Jimmy  Grayson 
and  "his  lack  of  dignity." 

But  on  this  evening  Churchill  had  no  desire  to  sit 
at  table  with  the  Gray  sons,  because  he  felt  that  some 
thing  great  was  going  to  happen  in  his  life.  For  more 
than  a  day,  now,  he  had  been  on  the  trail  of  a  mighty 
movement  that  he  believed  hidden  from  all  save  him 
self  and  those  behind  this  movement.  He,  too,  had 
noticed  the  appearance  at  Chicago  of  the  heavy,  rich, 
elderly  men,  and  he  had  spoken  to  one  or  two  of  them 
with  all  the  respect  and  deference  that  their  eminent 
position  in  the  financial  world  drew  from  every 
writer  of  the  Monitor.  And  his  deference  had  been 
rewarded,  because  that  afternoon  he  received  a  hint, 
and  it  came  from  no  less  a  personage  than  the  Hon 
orable  Clinton  Goodnight  himself,  a  hint  that  Churchill 
rightly  thought  was  worth  much  to  him. 

There  was  another  large  hotel  in  Milwaukee,  and  it 
was  to  this  that  the  financiers  had  gone,  having  as- 

59 


THE    CANDIDATE 

certained  first  that  Grayson  would  not  be  there;  nor 
did  they  intend  to  go  to  the  speech  that  evening. 
They  had  already,  in  the  address  at  Chicago,  weighed 
accurately  the  power  of  Jimmy  Grayson  with  his 
party,  and  with  wary  old  eyes,  long  used  to  watching 
the  world  and  its  people,  they  had  seen  that  it  would 
be  great.  Hence  he  was  a  man  to  be  handled  with 
skill  and  care,  to  be  led,  not  knowing  that  he  was  led, 
by  a  bridle  invisible  to  all  save  those  who  held  it — 
but  they,  the  financiers,  would  know  very  well  who 
held  it. 

It  was  these  men  to  whom  Churchill  came,  having 
slipped  quietly  away  from  his  associates,  drawn  by  a 
hint  that  he  might  secure  an  interview  of  great  im 
portance,  two  columns  in  length  and  exclusive. 
Churchill  was  a  true  product  of  the  Monitor,  a 
worshipper  of  accomplished  facts,  a  supporter  of 
every  old  convention,  believing  that  anything  new  or 
in  rough  attire  was  bad.  Although  he  would  have 
denied  it  if  accused,  he  nearly  always  confounded 
manners  with  morals,  and  to  him  the  opinion  of 
Europe  was  final.  Hence  the  Monitor  and  Churchill 
were  well  suited  to  each  other.  Moreover,  Churchill 
enjoyed  the  society  of  the  great — that  is,  of  those  who 
seemed  to  him  to  be  the  great — and  he  had  an  ad 
mirable  flexibility  of  temperament;  while  easily  able 
and  willing  to  be  very  nasty  to  those  whom  he 
thought  of  an  inferior  grade,  he  was  equally  able  and 
willing  to  be  extremely  deferential  to  those  whose 
grade  he  considered  superior.  He  was  also  intolerant 
in  opinion,  thinking  that  any  one  who  differed  from 
him  on  the  subjects  of  the  day  was  necessarily  a 
scoundrel,  wherein  he  was  again  in  perfect  accord  with 
the  Monitor. 

It  was,  therefore,  with  an  acute  delight,  blossoming 
60 


THE    CANDIDATE 

into  exultation,  that  Churchill  slipped  away  from  his 
associates  and  hastened  towards  the  hotel  where  the 
financial  magnates  were  staying.  These  were  really 
great  men,  not  the  productions  of  a  moment,  thrown 
briefly  into  the  lime-light,  but  solid  like  the  pyra 
mids.  Mr.  Goodnight  must  be  worth  forty  millions, 
at  the  least,  and  he  was  a  power  in  many  circles. 
Churchill  thrilled  with  delight  that  such  a  being 
should  hint  to  him  to  come  and  be  talked  to,  and  he 
was  more  than  ever  conscious  of  his  own  superiority 
to  his  professional  associates. 

Churchill  was  not  awed  by  the  hotel  clerk,  but 
haughtily  asked  that  his  card  be  sent  at  once  to  Mr. 
Goodnight,  and  he  concealed  his  pride  when  the 
message  came  back  that  he  be  shown  up  as  soon  as 
possible.  He  received  it  as  the  natural  tribute  to 
his  importance,  and  he  took  his  time  as  he  followed 
the  guiding  hall-boy.  But  at  the  door  of  Mr.  Good 
night  his  manner  changed;  it  became  deferential,  as 
befitted  modest  merit  in  the  presence  of  true  and 
recognized  greatness. 

Mr.  Goodnight  was  hospitable;  there  was  no  false 
pride  about  him;  he  was  able  in  being  great  to  be 
simple  also,  and  Mr.  Crayon  and  the  others  present 
shared  his  attractive  manner. 

"Ah,  Mr.  Churchill,"  he  said,  as  he  shook  hands 
heartily  with  the  correspondent,  "it  gives  me  pleas 
ure,  indeed,  to  welcome  you  here.  We  noticed  your 
bearing  in  Chicago,  and  we  were  impressed  by  it. 
We  therefore  had  an  additional  pleasure  when  we 
learned  that  you  were  the  correspondent  of  the 
Monitor,  New  York's  ablest  and  most  conservative 
journal.  The  American  press  grows  flippant  and  un 
reliable  nowadays,  Mr.  Churchill,  but  the  waves  of 
sensationalism  wash  in  vain  around  the  solid  base 

61 


THE    CANDIDATE 

of  the  old  Monitor.  There  she  stands,  as  steady  as 
ever,  a  genuine  light-house  in  the  darkness." 

Mr.  Goodnight,  being  a  member  of  Congress,  was 
able  to  acquire  and  to  exhibit  at  convenient  times 
a  certain  poetical  fervor  which  impressed  several 
kinds  of  people.  Now  his  associates  rubbed  their 
hands  in  admiration,  and  Churchill  flushed  with 
pleasure.  A  compliment  to  the  Monitor  was  also  a 
compliment  to  him,  for  was  he  not  the  very  spirit 
and  essence  of  the  Monitor? 

"Before  we  get  to  business,"  continued  Mr.  Good 
night,  in  the  most  gratifyingly  intimate  manner,  "sup 
pose  we  have  something  just  to  wet  our  throats  and 
promote  conversation.  This  town,  I  believe,  is  fa 
mous  for  beer,  but  it  is  not  impossible  to  get  cham 
pagne  here;  in  any  event,  we  shall  try  it." 

He  rang,  the  champagne  was  brought,  opened,  and 
drunk,  and  Churchill  glowed  with  his  sense  of  im 
portance.  These  were  men  of  many  millions,  twice 
his  age,  but  he  was  now  one  with  them.  Certainly 
none  of  his  associates  would  have  been  invited  by 
them  to  such  a  conference,  and  he  was  able  to  ap 
preciate  the  fact. 

"We  want  you,  Mr.  Churchill,  to  tell  us  something 
about  Grayson,"  said  Mr.  Goodnight,  in  a  most  kind 
ly  tone;  "not  what  all  the  world  knows,  those  super 
ficial  facts  which  the  most  careless  observer  may 
glean,  but  something  intimate  and  personal;  we 
want  you  to  give  us  an  insight  into  his  character, 
from  which  we  may  judge  what  he  is  likely  to  do  or 
become.  You  know  that  he  is  from  the  West,  the 
Far  West,  likely  to  be  afflicted  with  local  and  pro 
vincial  views,  not  to  say  heresies,  and  great  vested 
interests  within  his  own  party  feel  a  little  shaky 
about  him.  We  cannot  have  a  revolutionary,  or 

62 


THE    CANDIDATE 

even  a  parochial,  character  in  the  presidential  chair. 
Those  interests  which  are  the  very  bulwark  of  the 
public  must  be  respected.  We  must  watch  over 
him,  and  in  order  to  know  how  and  what  to  watch, 
we  must  have  information.  We  rely  upon  you  to  fur 
nish  us  this  information." 

Churchill  was  intensely  gratified  at  this  tribute  to 
his  merit,  but  he  was  resolved  not  to  show  it  even  to 
these  great  men.  Instead,  he  carelessly  emptied  his 
champagne  glass,  rubbed  his  chin  thoughtfully,  and 
then  asked  with  a  certain  fulness  of  implication : 

"Upon  what  precise  point  do  you  wish  informa 
tion,  Mr.  Goodnight?  Of  course,  I  have  not  been 
with  Mr.  Grayson  very  long,  but  I  can  say  truthfully 
that  I  have  observed  him  closely  within  that  time, 
and  perhaps  no  phase  of  a  rather  complicated  char 
acter  has  escaped  me." 

"We  feel  quite  sure  of  that,"  said  Mr.  Crayon, 
speaking  for  the  first  time,  and  using  short,  choppy 
sentences.  "Monitor,  as  I  happen  to  know,  is  ex 
tremely  careful  in  the  selection  of  its  men,  and  this, 
I  am  journalist  enough  to  understand,  is  most  im 
portant  errand  upon  which  it  can  now  send  member 
of  its  staff." 

Churchill  bowed  courteously  to  the  deserved  com 
pliment,  and  remained  silent  while  Mr.  Goodnight 
resumed  the  thread  of  talk. 

"What  we  want  to  know,  Mr.  Churchill,"  he  said, 
"is  in  regard  to  the  elements  of  stability  in  his  char 
acter.  Will  he  respect  those  mighty  interests  to 
which  I  have  just  alluded  ?  Is  he,  as  a  comparative 
ly  young  man,  and  one  wholly  ignorant  of  the  great 
world  of  finance,  likely  to  seek  the  opinion  and  ad 
vice  of  his  elders  ?  You  know  that  we  have  the  best 
wishes  in  the  world  for  him.  His  interests  and  ours, 

63 


THE    CANDIDATE 

if  he  but  perceives  it,  run  together,  and  it  is  our  de 
sire  to  preserve  the  utmost  harmony  within  the 
party." 

Churchill  bowed.  Their  opinion  and  his  agreed  in 
the  most  wonderful  manner.  It  was  hard  to  say,  in 
his  present  exalted  state,  whether  this  circumstance 
confirmed  their  intelligence  or  his,  but  it  certainly 
confirmed  somebody's. 

"  I  have  already  taken  note  of  these  facts,"  he  said, 
in  the  indifferent  tone  of  one  whose  advice  is  asked 
often,  "and  I  have  observed  that  Mr.  Grayson's 
character  is  immature,  and,  for  the  present  at  least, 
superficial.  But  I  think  he  can  be  led;  a  man  with 
a  will  not  very  strong  can  always  be  led,  if  those 
with  stronger  wills  happen  to  be  near,  and  Mr. 
Grayson's  faults  are  due  to  weakness  rather  than 
vice." 

There  was  an  exchange  of  significant  looks  among 
Mr.  Goodnight,  Mr.  Crayon,  and  their  friends,  and 
then  an  emphatic  nodding  of  heads,  all  of  which  in 
dicated  very  clearly  to  Churchill  that  they  admired 
his  acuteness  of  perception,  and  were  glad  to  have 
their  own  opinion  confirmed  by  one  who  observed  so 
well. 

"Wouldn't  it  be  well  to  lay  these  facts  before  the 
readers  of  the  Monitor?"  suggested  Mr.  Goodnight, 
mildly.  "We  all  know  what  a  powerful  organ  the 
Monitor  is,  and  what  influence  it  has  in  conservative 
circles.  It  would  be  a  hint  to  Mr.  Grayson  and  his 
friends;  it  would  show  him  the  path  in  which  he 
ought  to  walk,  and  it  would  save  trouble  later  on  in 
the  campaign." 

Churchill's  heart  thrilled  again.  This  was  a  greater 
honor  even  than  he  had  hoped  for;  he  was  to  sound 
the  mighty  trumpet  note  of  the  campaign,  but  his 

64 


THE    CANDIDATE 

pride  would  not  let  him  show  the  joy  that  he 
felt. 

"In  giving  these  views — and  I  appreciate  their 
great  importance — shall  I  quote  you  and  Mr.  Cray 
on  ?"  he  asked,  easily. 

Mr.  Goodnight  mused  a  few  moments,  and  twiddled 
his  fingers. 

"We  want  the  despatch  to  appear  in  the  shape 
that  will  give  it  the  greatest  effect,  and  you  are  with 
us  in  that  wish,  Mr.  Churchill,"  he  said,  confidingly. 
"Now  this  question  arises:  if  our  names  appear  it 
will  look  as  if  it  were  a  matter  between  Mr.  Grayson 
and  ourselves  personally,  which  is  not  the  case;  but 
if  it  appears  on  the  authority  of  the  Monitor  and 
your  own,  which  is  weighty,  it  will  then  stand  as  a 
matter  between  Mr.  Grayson  and  the  people,  and 
that  is  a  fact  past  denying.  Now,  what  do  you 
think  of  it  yourself,  Mr.  Churchill?" 

Since  they  left  it  so  obviously  to  his  intelligence, 
Churchill  was  bound  to  say  that  they  were  right, 
and  he  would  write  the  warning,  merely  as  coming 
from  the  great  portion  of  the  public  that  represented 
the  solid  interests  of  the  country,  the  quiet,  thinking 
people  who  never  indulged  in  any  foolish  chase  after 
a  will-o'-the-wisp. 

Mr.  Goodnight  and  Mr.  Crayon  made  many  further 
suggestions  about  the  points  of  the  despatch,  but 
they  admitted  ingenuously  that  they  were  not  able 
to  write,  that  they  possessed  no  literary  and  effective 
style,  that  it  would  be  for  Mr.  Churchill  to  clothe 
their  crude  thoughts — that  is,  if  he  approved  of  them 
— in  trenchant  phrase  and  brilliant  style. 

There  was  such  an  air  of  good-fellowship,  and 
Churchill  admitted  to  himself  so  freely  that  these 
men  might  make  suggestions  worth  while,  that  he 

65 


THE    CANDIDATE 

decided,  moreover,  as  the  hour  was  growing  late,  to 
write  the  despatch  there  and  then,  and  tell  to  the 
world  through  the  columns  of  the  Monitor,  not  what 
Jimmy  Gray  son  ought  to  do,  but  all  the  things  that 
he  ought  not  to  do,  and  they  were  many.  The  most 
important  of  these  re  ated  to  the  tariff  and  the  cur 
rency,  which,  in  the  view  of  Mr.  Goodnight  and  his 
friends,  should  be  left  absolutely  alone. 

Paper  was  produced,  and  Churchill  began  to  write, 
often  eliciting  words  of  admiration  from  the  others 
at  the  conciseness  and  precision  with  which  he  pre 
sented  his  views.  It  was  cause  for  wonder,  too,  that 
they  should  find  themselves  agreeing  with  him  so 
often,  and  they  admired,  also,  the  felicity  of  phrasing 
with  which  he  continued  to  present  all  these  things 
as  the  views  of  a  great  public,  thus  giving  the  de 
spatch  the  flavor  of  news  rather  than  opinion.  When 
it  was  finished — and  it  would  fill  two  full  columns  of 
the  Monitor — the  line  was  quite  clearly  drawn  between 
what  Jimmy  Grayson  could  do  and  what  he  could 
not  do— '-and  Churchill  was  proud  of  the  conviction 
that  none  but  himself  had  drawn  it.  Mr.  Gfayson, 
reading  this — and  he  certainly  would  read  it  —  must 
know  that  it  came  from  inspired  sources,  and  he 
would  see  straight  before  him  the  path  in  which  it 
was  wise  for  him  to  walk.  Churchill  knew  that  he 
had  rendered  a  great  service,  and  he  felt  an  honest 
glow. 

"I  think  I  shall  file  this  at  once,"  he  said,  "as  it  is 
growing  late,  and  there  is  an  hour's  difference  be 
tween  here  and  New  York." 

They  bade  him  a  most  complimentary  adieu,  sug 
gesting  that  they  would  be  glad  to  hear  from  him 
personally  during  the  campaign,  and  announcing 
their  willingness  to  serve  him  if  they  could;  and 

66 


THE    CANDIDATE 

Churchill  left  the  hotel,  contented  with  himself  and 
with  them.  When  he  was  gone,  they  smiled  and 
expressed  to  each  other  their  satisfaction.  In  fifteen 
minutes  swift  operators  were  sending  Churchill's 
despatch  eastward. 


"KING        PLUMMER 

MEANWHILE  the  evening  was  proving  of  no  less 
interest  to  Harley  than  to  Churchill,  although  in 
a  quite  different  way.  He  had  noticed,  when  they 
parted  at  the  hotel  door,  the  apparent  sadness,  or, 
rather,  the  touch  of  the  pathetic  in  the  manner  of  Miss 
Morgan,  and  he  observed  it  again  when  they  were 
all  reunited  at  the  hotel  table.  Heretofore  she  had 
been  light,  ironical,  and  bearing  a  full  share  in  the  talk, 
but  now  she  merely  replied  when  spoken  to  directly, 
and  her  tone  had  the  tinge  of  melancholy.  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Grayson  looked  at  her  more  than  once,  as  if  they 
were  about  to  refer  to  some  particular  subject,  but 
always  they  refrained;  instead,  they  sought tby  light 
talk  to  divert  attention  from  her,  and  they  succeeded 
in  every  case  but  that  of  Harley. 

It  was  not  a  long  dinner,  and  as  they  returned 
to  the  ladies'  parlor  they  were  welcomed  by  a  loud, 
joyous  cry,  and  out  of  the  dark  of  the  room  a  big 
man  projected  himself  to  greet  them.  His  first 
words  were  for  Miss  Morgan,  whom  he  affectionately 
called  "Little  Girl,"  and  whom  he  seized  by  the 
hands  and  kissed  on  the  forehead.  It  was  a  loud 
voice,  but  round,  full,  and  mellow,  and  Harley 
judged  that  it  came  from  a  big  nature  as  well  as  a 
big  body. 

When  the  man  stepped  into  the  light,  Harley  saw 
68 


THE    CANDIDATE 

that  he  was  over  six  feet  high,  and  with  a  width 
according.  His  broad  face  was  covered  with  short, 
iron-gray  beard,  and  his  head  was  thatched  with  hair 
equally  thick  and  of  the  same  gray  shade.  In  years 
he  might  have  been  fifty,  and  it  was  Harley's  first 
impression  at  this  moment  that  the  big  man  was 
Miss  Morgan's  father — it  came  to  him  with  a  rather 
queer  feeling  that  it  kad  never  occurred  to  him  to  ask 
about  her  parents,  whether  they  were  living  or  dead, 
and  what  kind  of  people  they  were  or  had  been. 

The  stranger  shook  hands  with  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Gray  son,  and  expressed  vocally  the  pleasure  that 
his  eyes  also  conveyed.  Harley  and  Hobart  were  the 
only  others  present,  and,  turning  to  them,  Mr.  Gray- 
son  introduced  the  stranger,  Mr.  William  Plummer — 
"King  Plummer,  you  know." 

Then  Harley  remembered  vaguely,  and  he  began 
to  place  Mr.  Plummer.  He  recalled  allusions  in  the 
press  to  one  William  Plummer,  otherwise  "King" 
Plummer,  who  lived  in  the  far  Northwest,  and  who, 
having  amassed  millions  in  ranching  and  mining,  had 
also  become  a  great  power  in  the  political  world, 
hence  his  term  "  King, "  which  was  more  fitting  in  his 
case  than  in  that  of  many  real  kings.  He  had 
developed  remarkable  skill  in  politics,  and,  as  the 
phrase  went,  held  Idaho,  his  own  state,  in  the  hollow 
of  his  hand,  and  in  a  close  election  could  certainly 
swing  Montana  and  Wyoming  as  he  wished,  and 
perhaps  Utah  and  Washington,  too. 

Harley's  interest  instantly  became  keen,  and  he 
did  not  take  his  eyes  off  "King"  Plummer.  Clearly 
he  was  a  man  of  power;  he  fairly  radiated  it,  not 
merely  physically,  but  mentally.  His  gestures,  his 
voice,  every  movement  indicated  a  vast  reserve 
strength.  This  was  one  of  the  great  men  whose 

69 


THE    CANDIDATE 

development  the  rough  field  of  the  new  West  had 
permitted. 

Harley  was  not  alone  interested  in  "King"  Plum- 
mer,  but  also  in  the  kiss  that  he  had  put  upon  the 
white  forehead  of  Sylvia  Morgan  and  his  boisterous 
joy  at  seeing  her.  Since  he  was  not  her  father,  it  was 
likely  that  he  was  her  uncle,  not  by  blood,  as  Jimmy 
Grayson  was,  but  as  the  husband  of  an  aunt,  perhaps. 
Yes,  this  must  be  it,  he  concluded,  and  the  kiss  seemed 
more  reasonable. 

When  "King"  Plummer  was  introduced  to  Harley 
and  Hobart,  he  shook  hands  with  them  most  cord 
ially,  but  as  keen  a  man  as  Harley  could  see  that  he 
regarded  them  as  mere  youths,  or  "kids,"  as  the 
"  King  "  himself  would  have  said.  There  was  noth 
ing  depreciatory  in  this  beyond  the  difference  be 
tween  age  and  great  achievement  and  youth  which 
had  not  yet  had  the  time  to  fulfil  its  promise,  and 
Harley,  because  of  it,  felt  no  decrease  of  liking  and 
respect  for  "King"  Plummer. 

"The  far  Northwest  is  for  you  solidly,  Jimmy," 
said  the  big  man,  with  a  joyous  smile.  "Idaho  is 
right  in  line  at  the  head  of  the  procession,  and 
Wyoming,  Montana,  and  the  others  are  following 
close  after.  They  haven't  many  votes,  but  they 
have  enough  to  decide  this  election." 

Jimmy  Grayson  smiled.  He  had  reason  to  smile. 
He,  too,  liked  "King"  Plummer,  and,  moreover,  this 
was  good  news  that  he  brought. 

"I  fancy  that  you  have  had  something  to  do  with 
this,"  he  said.  "You  still  know  how  to  whisper  a 
sweet  word  in  the  ear  of  the  people." 

The  big  man  shook  himself,  laughed  again,  and 
looked  satisfied. 

"Well,  I  have  done  a  lot  of  whispering,"  he  ad- 
70 


THE    CANDIDATE 

mitted,  "if  you  call  it  whispering,  though  most 
people,  I'll  gamble,  would  say  it  is  like  the  clatter  of  a 
mill.  And  I've  done  some  riding,  too,  both  train  and 
horse.  The  mountains  are  going  to  be  all  right. 
Don't  you  forget  that,  Jimmy." 

"And  it's  lucky  for  me  that  '  King'  Plummer  is  my 
friend,"  said  Mr.  Grayson,  sincerely. 

During  this  talk  of  politics,  Sylvia  Morgan  was 
silent,  and  once,  when  "King"  Plummer  laid  his 
big  hand  protectingly  on  her  arm,  she  shrank  slightly, 
but  so  slightly  that  no  one  save  Harley  noticed,  not 
even  the  "  King."  The  action  roused  doubts  in  his 
mind.  Surely  a  girl  would  not  shrink  from  her  uncle 
in  this  manner,  not  from  a  big,  kindly  uncle  like 
Plummer. 

' '  I  wanted  to  get  down  to  Chicago  and  hear  you  at 
your  first  speech,"  went  on  "King"  Plummer,  in  his 
big,  booming  voice,  that  filled  the  room,  "but  I 
couldn't  manage  it.  There  was  a  convention  at 
Boise"  that  needed  a  little  attention — one  likes  to  look 
on  at  those  things,  you  know" — his  left  eye  con 
tracted  slightly — "and  as  soon  as  that  was  over  I 
hurried  down  as  fast  as  an  express  could  bring  me. 
But  I've  read  in  all  the  papers  what  a  howlin'  success 
it  was,  an'  I'm  goin'  to  hear  you  give  it  to  the  other 
fellows  to-night — won't  we,  Sylvia?" 

He  turned  to  the  girl  for  confirmation  of  what 
needed  no  confirmation,  and  her  eyes  smiled  into  his 
with  a  certain  pride.  She  seemed  to  Harley  to  ad 
mire  his  bigness,  his  openness  of  manner  and  speech, 
and  his  wholesome  character.  After  all,  he  was  her 
uncle;  the  look  that  she  gave  him  then  was  that  of 
one  who  received  protection,  half  paternal  and  half 
elder-brotherly. 

"And  now,  Jimmy,  I  guess  I've  taken  up  enough 
71 


THE    CANDIDATE 

of  your  time,"  exclaimed  "King"  Plummer,  his  big, 
resonant  chest-tones  echoing  in  the  room,  "and  it's 
for  you  to  do  all  the  talkin'  that's  left.  But  I'll  be  in 
a  box  listenin1,  and  just  you  do  your  best  for  the 
credit  of  the  West  and  the  mountains." 

Gray  son  smiled  and  promised,  and  "King"  Plum 
mer  joined  them  in  the  carriage  that  bore  them  to 
the  hall.  He  took  his  place  with  them  in  such  a 
natural  and  matter-of-fact  manner  that  Harley  was 
confirmed  in  his  renewed  opinion  that  he  was  Sylvia 
Morgan's  uncle,  or,  at  least,  her  next  of  kin,  after  Mr. 
Gray son. 

At  the  hall  "King"  Plummer,  as  he  had  promised, 
sat  in  a  box  with  Mrs.  Grayson  and  Miss  Morgan,  and 
always  he  led  the  applause,  which  in  reality  needed  no 
leading,  the  triumph  at  Chicago  being  repeated  in  full 
degree.  Harley,  watching  him  from  his  desk,  saw 
that  the  big  man  was  filled  with  sanguine  expec 
tation  of  triumph,  and,  with  the  glow  of  Jimmy 
Grayson's  oratory  upon  him,  could  not  see  any  such 
result  as  defeat.  But  Miss  Morgan  was  strangely 
silent,  and  all  her  vivacity  of  manner  seemed  to  be 
gone. 

When  the  speech  was  nearly  over  Churchill  saun 
tered  in  lazily  by  the  stage  entrance  and  took  a  seat 
near  Harley.  Harley  had  not  noticed  his  previous 
absence  until  then. 

"How's  the  speech  to-night?"  he  asked,  languidly; 
"same  old  chestnuts,  I  suppose." 

"As  this  is  Mr.  Grayson's  second  speech,"  replied 
Harley,  sharply,  "it  is  a  little  early  to  call  anything 
that  he  says  'same  old  chestnuts.'  Besides,  I  don't 
think  that  repetition  will  ever  be  one  of  his  faults. 
Why  haven't  you  been  here?" 

"Oh,  I've  been  cruising  around  a  bit  on  the  out- 


THE    CANDIDATE 

side.  The  Associated  Press,  of  course,  will  take  care 
of  the  speech,  which  is  mere  routine." 

He  spoke  with  such  an  air  of  supercilious  and 
supreme  satisfaction  that  Harley  looked  at  him 
keenly. 

"Pick  up  anything?"  he  asked,  briefly. 

"Oh,  a  trifle  or  two;  nothing,  however,  that  you 
would  care  about." 

"  Now,  I  wonder  what  it  is  that  makes  him  so  con 
tent  with  himself,"  thought  Harley,  but  he  had  little 
time  to  devote  to  Churchill,  as  his  own  despatch  was 
occupying  his  attention. 

Harley  could  not  go  back  to  the  hotel  with  the 
Grayson  party  when  the  speech  was  over,  as  he  had 
to  file  his  despatch  first,  but  he  saw  them  all  the 
next  morning  at  the  breakfast-table.  "  King"  Plum- 
mer  was  there,  too,  as  expansive  as  ever,  and  showing 
mingled  joy  and  sorrow — joy  over  the  second  triumph 
of  the  candidate,  which  was  repeated  at  great  length 
in  the  morning  papers,  and  sorrow  because  he  could 
not  continue  with  them  on  the  campaign,  which 
moved  to  Detroit  for  the  third  night. 

"I'd  be  a  happy  man  if  I  could  do  it,"  he  said,  in 
his  booming  tones,  "happy  for  more  reasons  than 
one.  It  would  be  a  big  holiday  to  me.  Wouldn't 
I  enjoy  hearing  you  tear  the  enemy  to  pieces  night 
after  night,  Jimmy!  and  then  I'd  be  with  you  right 
along,  Sylvia." 

He  looked  at  the  girl,  and  his  look  was  full  of  'ove 
and  protection.  She  flushed  and  seemed  embarrass 
ed.  But  there  was  no  hesitation  or  awkwardness 
about  the  big  man. 

"Never  you  mind,  little  girl,"  he  said;  "when  you 
are  Mrs.  Plummer — an'  that  ain't  far  away,  I  hope 
1 — you'll  be  with  me  all  the  time.  Besides,  I'm  goin* 

73 


THE    CANDIDATE 

to  join  Jimmy  Grayson  when  he  comes  out  West,  an' 
make  the  campaign  there  with  him." 

The  color  in  Miss  Morgan's  face  deepened,  and 
she  glanced,  not  at  "King"  Plummer  or  her  uncle, 
but  at  Harley,  and  when  her  eyes  met  his  the  color 
in  her  cheeks  deepened  still  further.  Then  she  look 
ed  down  at  her  plate  and  was  silent  and  embarrassed. 

Harley,  as  he  heard  these  words  of  the  "King," 
felt  a  strange  thrill  of  disapproval.  It  was,  as  he 
told  himself,  because  of  the  disparity  in  ages.  It 
was  true  that  a  man  of  this  type  was  the  very  kind 
to  restrain  Sylvia  Morgan,  but  twenty  and  fifty 
should  never  wed,  man  and  wife  should  be  young 
together  and  should  grow  old  together.  It  was  no 
business  of  his,  and  there  was  no  obligation  upon 
him  to  look  after  the  happiness  of  either  of  these 
people,  but  it  was  an  arrangement  that  he  did  not 
like,  violating  as  it  did  his  sense  of  fitness. 

"King"  Plummer  was  to  leave  them  an  hour  later, 
taking  a  train  for  St.  Paul,  and  thence  for  Idaho. 
He  bade  them  all  a  hearty  good-bye,  shaking  hands 
warmly  with  Jimmy  Grayson,  to  whom  he  wished  a 
career  of  unbroken  triumph,  repeating  these  good 
wishes  to  Mrs.  Grayson,  and  again  kissing  Sylvia 
Morgan  on  the  forehead— the  proper  kiss,  Harley 
thought,  for  fifty  to  bestow  upon  twenty,  unless 
twenty  should  happen  to  be  fifty's  daughter. 

"  We  won't  be  separated  long,  Sylvia,  girl,"  he  said, 
and  she  flushed  a  deep  red  and  then  turned  pale.  To 
Harley  he  said: 

"And  I'll  try  to  show  you  the  West,  young  man, 
when  you  come  out  there.  This  is  no  West;  Mil 
waukee  ain't  West  by  a  jugful.  Just  you  wait  till 
you  get  beyond  the  Missouri,  then  we'll  show  you 
the  real  West,  and  real  life  at  the  same  time." 

74 


THE    CANDIDATE 

There  was  a  certain  condescension  in  the  tone  of 
"  King"  Plummer,  but  Harley  did  not  mind  it;  so  far 
as  the  experience  of  life  in  the  rough  was  concerned, 
the  "King"  had  a  right  to  condescend. 

"I  shall  hold  you  to  your  promise,"  he  said. 

Then  "King"  Plummer,  waving  good-byes  with  a 
wide-armed  sweep,  large  and  hearty  like  himself,  de 
parted. 

"There  goes  a  true  man,"  said  Mr.  Grayson,  and 
Harley  spontaneously  added  confirmation.  But  Miss 
Morgan  was  silent.  She  waved  back  in  response  to 
the  King  of  the  Mountains,  but  her  face  was  still 
pale,  and  she  was  silent  for  some  time.  Harley  now 
knew  that  "King"  Plummer  was  not  her  uncle  nor 
her  next  of  kin  after  Jimmy  Grayson  in  any  way, 
but  he  was  unable  to  tell  why  this  marriage-to-be 
had  been  arranged. 

But  he  quickly  learned  the  secret,  if  secret  it  was  ; 
it  was  told  to  him  on  the  train  by  Mrs.  Grayson  as 
they  rode  that  afternoon  to  Detroit. 

"  If  you  were  ever  in  Idaho,"  she  said,  "you  would 
soon  hear  the  story  of  "King"  Plummer  and  Sylvia. 
It  is  a  tragedy  of  our  West  ;  that  is,  it  began  in  a  great 
tragedy,  one  of  those  tragedies  of  the  plains  and  the 
mountains  so  numerous  and  so  like  each  other  that 
the  historians  forget  to  tell  about  them.  Sylvia's 
mother  was  Mr.  Grayson's  eldest  sister,  much  older 
than  he.  She  and  her  husband  and  children  were 
part  T)f  a  wagon-train  that  was  going  up  away  into 
the  Northwest  where  the  railroads  did  not  then 


"'  It  was  long  ago  —  when  Sylvia  was  a  little  girl  ,  not 
TOore  than  seven  or  eight  —  and  the  train  was  massacred 
by  Utes  just  as  they  reached  the  Idaho  line.  The 
Utes  were  on  the  war-path  —  there  had  been  some 

75 


THE    CANDIDATE 

sort  of  an  outbreak — and  the  train  had  been  warned 
by  the  soldiers  not  to  go  on,  but  the  emigrants  were 
reckless.  They  laughed  at  danger,  because  they  did 
not  see  it  before  their  faces.  They  pushed  on,  and 
they  were  ambushed  in  a  deep  canyon. 

"There  was  hardly  any  fight  at  all,  the  attack  was 
so  sudden  and  unexpected.  Before  the  people  knew 
what  was  coming  half  of  them  were  shot  down,  and 
then  those  awful  savages  were  among  them  with 
tomahawk  and  knife.  Mr.  Harley,  I've  no  use  for 
the  Indian.  It  is  easy  enough  to  get  sentimental 
about  him  when  you  are  away  off  in  the  East,  but 
when  you  are  close  to  him  in  the  West  all  that  feel 
ing  goes.  I  heard  Sylvia  tell  about  that  massacre 
once,  and  only  once.  It  was  years  ago,  but  I  can't  for 
get  it ;  and  if  I  can't  forget  it,  do  you  think  that  she 
can  ?  Her  father  was  killed  at  the  first  fire  from  the 
bushes,  and  then  an  Indian,  covered  with  paint  and 
bears'  claws,  tomahawked  both  her  mother  and  her 
little  brother  before  her  eyes — yes,  and  scalped  them, 
too.  He  ran  for  the  girl  next,  but  Sylvia — I  think 
it  was  just  physical  impulse — dashed  away  into  the 
scrub,  and  the  Indian  turned  aside  for  a  victim  near 
er  at  hand. 

"Sylvia  lay  hid  until  night  came,  and  there  was 
silence  over  the  mountain,  the  silence  of  death,  Mr. 
Harley,  because  when  she  slipped  back  in  the  dark 
ness  to  the  emigrant  train  she  found  every  soul  that 
had  been  in  it,  besides  herself,  dead.  Think,  Mr.  Har 
ley,  of  that  little  girl  alone  in  all  those  vast  moun 
tains,  with  her  dead  around  her  !  Do  you  wonder 
that  sometimes  she  seems  hard?" 

"No,  I  don't,"  replied  Harley.  Despite  himself  a 
mist  came  to  his  eyes  over  this  pathetic  tragedy  of 
long  ago. 

76 


THE    CANDIDATE 

"Sylvia  has  never  said  much  about  that  night 
she  spent  there  with  the  dead,  in  the  midst  of  the 
wrecked  and  plundered  train,  but  when  a  number  of 
border  men,  alarmed  about  the  emigrants,  pushed 
on  the  next  day  to  save  them  if  possible,  what  do 
you  suppose  they  found  her  doing?" 

"I  can't  guess." 

"She  had  got  a  spade  somewhere  from  one  of  the 
wagons,  and,  little  as  she  was,  she  was  trying  to 
bury  her  own  dead.  She  was  so  busy  that  she  didn't 
see  them  ride  up,  and  William  Plummer,  their  leader 
— he  was  a  young  man  then— actually  shed  tears,  so 
they  say.  Well,  these  men  finished  the  burial,  and 
Mr.  Plummer  put  Sylvia  on  his  horse  before  him  and 
rode  away.  He  adopted  the  little  thing  as  his 
daughter.  He  said  she  was  the  bravest  creature  he 
had  ever  seen,  and,  as  he  was  not  likely  to  have  any 
real  daughter,  she  should  take  a  place  that  ought  to 
be  filled. 

"Were  the  Utes  who  did  this  massacre  punished?" 

"No  one  knows;  the  soldiers  killed  a  number  of 
them  in  battle,  but  whether  the  slain  were  those  who 
ambushed  the  train  is  not  decided  in  border  history." 

"  I  think  I  understand  the  rest  of  the  story  of  Mr. 
Plummer  and  Miss  Morgan,"  said  Harley. 

"Yes,  it  is  not  hard  to  guess.  Mr.  Grayson  and 
her  other  relatives  farther  East  did  not  hear  of  her 
rescue  until  long  afterwards ;  they  supposed  her  dead 
— but  no  one  could  have  cared  for  her  better  than 
Mr.  Plummer.  He  kept  her  first  at  his  mining-hut 
in  the  mountains,  but  after  two  or  three  years  he 
took  her  into  town  to  Bois£ ;  he  put  her  in  the  care  of 
a  woman  there  and  sent  her  to  school.  He  loved 
her  already  like  a  real  daughter.  She  was  just  the 
kind  to  appeal  to  him,  so  brave  and  so  fond  of  the 

77 


THE    CANDIDATE 

wild  life.  They  say  that  at  first  she  refused  to  stay 
iri  Boise".  She  ran  away  and  tried  to  go  on  foot  to 
him  away  up  in  the  mountains,  where  the  mining- 
camp  was.  When  he  heard  of  it,  they  say  he  laugh 
ed,  and  I  suspect  that  he  swore  an  oath  or  two — he 
lived  among  rough  men  you  know — but  if  he  did, 
they  were  swear  wor.ds  of  admiration;  he  said  it  was 
just  like  her  independence  and  pluck.  But  he  made 
her  stay  in  Boise"." 

"  He  knew  what  was  right  and  what  was  due  both 
him  and  her,  because  now  he  was  becoming  a  great 
man  in  the  Northwest.  He  rose  to  power  in  both 
financial  and  public  life,  and  his  daughter  must  be 
equal  to  her  fortune.  But  he  spoiled  her,  you  can 
see  that,  and  how  could  he  help  it?" 

"She  was  fifteen  before  we  heard  that  she  was 
alive,  and  then  Mr.  Grayson  and  her  other  relatives 
wanted  to  take  her  and  care  for  her,  but  Mr.  Plummer 
refused  to  give  her  up,  and  he  was  right.  He  had 
saved  her  when  he  found  her  a  little  girl  alone  in  all 
those  vast  mountains,  and  he  was  entitled  to  her. 
Don't  you  think  so,  Mr.  Harley?" 

"I  do,"  replied  Harley,  with  conviction. 

"We  yielded  to  his  superior  claim,  but  he  sent  her 
more  than  once  to  see  us.  We  loved  her  from  the 
first,  and  we  love  her  yet." 

Here  Mrs.  Grayson  paused  and  hesitated  over  her 
words,  as  if  in  embarrassment. 

"  But  it  is  not  you  and  Mr.  Grayson  alone  who  love 
her,"  suggested  Harley. 

"It  is  not  we  alone;  in  Boise  everybody  loves  her, 
and  at  the  mines  and  on  Mr.  Plummer's  ranches  they 
all  love  her,  too." 

"I  did  not  mean  just  that  kind  of  love." 

Mrs.  Grayson  flushed  a  little,  but  she  continued: 
78 


THE    CANDIDATE 

"You  are  speaking  of  Mr.  Plummer  himself;  she 
was  his  daughter  at  first,  and  so  long  as  she  was  a 
little  girl  I  suppose  that  he  never  dreamed  of  her  in 
any  other  light.  But  when  she  began  to  grow  into  a 
young  woman,  Mr.  Harley — and  a  beautiful  one,  too, 
as  beautiful  as  she  is  good — he  began  to  look  at  her  in 
a  different  way.  When  these  elderly  men,  who  have 
been  so  busy  that  they  have  not  had  time  to  fall  in 
love,  do  fall  in  love,  the  fall  is  sudden  and  complete. 
Mr.  Plummer  was  like  the  others.  And  what  else 
could  she  do  ?  She  was  too  young  to  have  seen  much 
of  the  world.  There  was  no  young  man,  none  of  her 
own  age,  who  had  taken  her  heart.  Mr.  Plummer  is  a 
good  man,  and  she  owed  him  everything.  Of  course, 
she  accepted  him.  I  ask  you,  what  else  could  she 
do?" 

There  was  a  defensive  note  in  her  voice  when  she 
said:  "I  ask  you,  what  else  could  she  do?"  and 
Harley  replied,  with  due  deliberation: 

"Perhaps  she  could  do  nothing  else,  but  sometimes, 
Mrs.  Gray  son,  I  have  my  doubts  whether  twenty  and 
fifty  can  ever  go  happily  together." 

"We  like  Mr.  Plummer,  and  he  is  a  great  friend  of 
my  husband's." 

Harley  said  nothing,  but  he,  too,  liked  Mr.  Plummer, 
and  he  held  him  in  the  highest  respect.  It  required 
little  effort  of  the  imagination  to  draw  a  picture 
of  the  brave  mountaineer  riding  from  the  Indian 
massacre  with  that  little  girl  upon  his  saddle-bow. 
And  much  of  his  criticism  of  Sylvia  Morgan  herself 
was  disarmed.  She  was  more  a  child  of  the  mountains 
even  than  his  first  fancy  had  made  her,  and  it  was  not 
a  wonder  that  her  spirit  was  often  masculine  in  its 
strength  and  boldness.  It  was  involuntary,  but  he 
thought  of  her  with  new  warmth  and  admiration. 

79 


THE    CANDIDATE 

Incited  by  this  feeling,  he  soon  joined  her  and  the 
group  that  was  with  her.  He  had  expected  to  find 
her  sad  and  comparatively  silent,  but  he  had  never 
seen  her  in  a  more  lively  mood,  full  of  light  talk  and 
jest  and  a  gay  good-humor  that  could  not  have  failed 
to  infect  the  most  hardened  cynic.  Certainly  he  did 
not  escape  its  influence,  nor  did  he  seek  to  do  so,  but 
as  he  watched  her  he  thought  there  was  a  slight 
touch  of  feverishness  to  her  high  spirits,  as  if  she  had 
just  escaped  from  some  great  danger. 

Before  they  reached  Detroit  he  talked  a  while  with 
Mr.  Grayson,  in  the  private  drawing-room  of  the  car — 
Mrs.  Grayson  had  joined  the  others — and  "King" 
Plummer  was  the  subject  of  their  talk. 

"Is  he  really  such  a  great  political  power  in  the 
Northwest?"  asked  Harley. 

"He  is.  Even  greater  than  popular  report  makes 
him.  I  believe  that  in  a  presidential  election  he  could 
decide  the  vote  of  five  or  six  of  those  lightly  populated 
states.  He  has  so  many  interests,  so  many  strings 
that  he  holds,  and  he  is  a  man  of  so  much  energy  and 
will.  You  see,  I  want  to  keep  "King"  Plummer  my 
friend." 

"I  surely  would,  if  I  were  in  your  place,"  said 
Harley,  with  conviction. 


VI 

ON    THE    ROAD 

THE  great  success  of  Gray  son  as  an  orator  was 
continued  at  Detroit.  A  vast  audience  hung 
breathless  upon  his  words,  and  he  played  upon  its 
emotions  as  he  would,  now  thrilling  the  people  with 
passion,  and  then  stirring  them  to  cheers  that  rolled 
like  thunder.  It  became  apparent  that  this  hitherto 
obscure  man  from  the  Far  West  was  the  strongest 
nominee  a  somewhat  disunited  party  could  have 
named,  and  Harley,  whose  interest  at  first  had  been 
for  the  campaign  itself  rather  than  its  result,  began  to 
have  a  feeling  that  after  all  Grayson  might  be  elected 
—at  least  he  had  a  fighting  chance,  which  might  be 
more  if  it  were  not  for  the  shadow  of  Goodnight, 
Crayon,  and  their  kind.  Part  of  these  men  had 
gone  back,  among  them  the  large  and  important 
Mr.  Goodnight ;  but  Harley  saw  the  quiet  Mr.  Crayon 
still  watching  from  a  high  box  at  Detroit,  and  he 
knew  that  no  act  or  word  of  the  candidate  would 
escape  the  scrutiny  of  this  powerful  faction  within  the 
party. 

Ample  proof  of  his  conclusion,  if  it  were  needed, 
came  the  next  morning  in  a  copy  of  the  New  York 
Monitor,  Churchill's  paper,  Which  contained  on  its 
front  page  a  long,  double-leaded  despatch,  under  a 
Milwaukee  date  line.  It  was  Hobart  who  brought  it 
<s  81 


THE    CANDIDATE 

in  to  Mr.  Grayson  and  his  little  party  at  the  break 
fast-table. 

"Excuse  me  for  interrupting  you,  Mr.  Grayson," 
he  said,  flourishing  the  paper  as  if  it  were  a  sort  of 
flag;  "but  here  is  something  that  you  are  bound  to 
see.  It's  what  might  be  called  a  word  in  your  ear,  or, 
at  least,  it  seems  to  me  to  have  that  sound.  I  guess 
that  Churchill  got  a  beat  on  us  all  in  Milwaukee." 

"I  wish  you  would  join  us,  Mr.  Hobart,  and  read 
the  whole  article  to  us,  if  you  will  be  so  kind,"  said 
the  candidate,  calmly. 

Nothing  could  have  pleased  Hobart  better,  and  he 
read  with  emphasis  and  care,  resolved  that  his  hearers 
should  not  lose  a  word.  Churchill  had  a  good  style, 
and  he  possessed  a  certain  skill  in  innuendo,  therefore 
he  was  able  throughout  the  article  to  make  his  mean 
ing  clear.  He  stated  that  among  those  surrounding  the 
candidate — he  could  give  names  if  he  would,  but  it 
was  not  necessary — there  was  a  certain  feeling  that 
Mr.  Grayson  was  not  quite — at  least  not  yet — as  large 
as  the  position  for  which  he  had  been  nominated. 
Keen  observers  had  noticed  in  him  a  predisposition  to 
rashness;  he  had  spoken  lightly  more  than  once  of 
great  vested  interests. 

"Uncle  James,  how  could  you  be  so  lacking  in 
reverence?"  exclaimed  Sylvia  Morgan. 

Mr.  Grayson  merely  smiled. 

"Go  on,  Mr.  Hobart,"  he  said. 

"  '  But  some  of  the  ablest  minds  in  the  country 
are  closely  watching  Mr.  Grayson,'  "  continued  the 
article,  "  '  and  where  he  needs  support  or  restraint  he 
will  receive  it.  There  are  certain  issues  not  em 
bodied  in  the  platform  from  which  he  will  be  steered.' ' 

"Now,  I  think  that  is  too  much!"  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Grayson,  the  indignant  red  rising  in  her  cheeks. 

82 


THE    CANDIDATE 

"Their  printing  it  does  not  make  it  true,  Anna," 
said  the  candidate,  mildly. 

"As  if  you  did  not  know  enough  to  run  your  own 
campaign!"  exclaimed  the  indignant  wife. 

But  Jimmy  Grayson  continued  to  smile.  "  We  must 
expect  this  sort  of  thing,"  he  said;  "  it  would  be  a  dull 
campaign  without  it.  Please  go  on,  Mr.  Hobart." 

A  number  of  eminent  citizens,  the  article  con 
tinued,  would  make  a  temporary  sacrifice  of  their 
great  business  interests  for  the  sake  of  the  campaign 
and  the  people,  and  with  their  restraining  care  it  was 
not  likely  that  Mr.  Grayson  could  go  far  wrong,  as  he 
seemed  to  be  an  amiable  man,  amenable  to  advice. 
Thus  it  continued  at  much  length,  and  Harley,  keen 
and  experienced  in  such  matters,  knew  very  well 
whence  Churchill  had  drawn  his  inspiration. 

"The  editor,  also,  makes  comment  upon  this 
warning,"  said  Hobart,  who  was  undeniably  enjoying 
himself. 

"I  should  think  that  the  despatch  was  enough," 
said  Mrs.  Grayson,  whose  indignation  was  not  yet 
cooled. 

"But  it  isn't,  Mrs.  Grayson,"  said  Hobart;  "at 
least,  the  editor  of  the  Monitor  does  not  think  so. 
Listen. 

' '  The  campaign  in  behalf  of  our  party  has  begun 
in  the  West,  and  we  have  felt  the  need  of  thoroughly 
reliable  news  from  that  quarter,  free  from  the  sen 
sationalism  and  levity  which  we  are  sorry  to  say  so 
often  disgrace  our  American  newspapers,  and  make 
them  compare  unfavorably  with  the  graver  and 
statelier  columns  of  the  English  press.'" 

"He  is  an  Englishman  himself,"  said  Harley — 
"American  opinion  through  an  English  channel," 

Even  Jimmy  Grayson  laughed, 
83 


THE    CANDIDATE 

"'At  last  we  have  obtained  this  information,'" 
continued  Hobart,  reading,  '"and  we  are  able  to 
present  it  to-day  to  those  earnest  and  sincere  people, 
the  cultivated  minority  who  really  count,  and  who 
constitute  the  leaven  in  the  mass  of  the  light  and 
frivolous  American  people.  A  trusted  correspondent 
of  ours,  judicious,  impartial,  absolutely  devoid  of 
prejudices,  has  obtained  from  high  sources  with  which 
common  journalistic  circles  are  never  in  touch — '" 

"How  the  bird  befouls  its  own  nest!"  said  the 
elderly  Tremaine. 

" ' — information  that  will  throw  much  light  upon  a 
campaign  and  a  candidate  both  obscure  hitherto. 
This  we  present  upon  another  page,  and,  as  our 
cultivated  readers  will  readily  infer,  the  candidate, 
Mr.  Grayson,  is  not  a  bad  man — ' " 

"Thanks  for  that  crowning  mercy,"  said  Mr.  Gray- 
son. 

'" — but  neither  is  he  a  great  one;  in  short,  he  is,  at 
least  for  the  present,  narrow  and  provincial;  more 
over,  he  is  of  an  impulsive  temperament  that  is  likely 
to  lead  him  into  untrodden  and  dangerous  paths.  Our 
best  hope  lies  in  the  fact  that  Mr.  Grayson,  who  has 
not  shown  himself  intractable,  may  be  brought  to 
see  this,  and  will  rely  upon  the  advice  of  those  who 
are  fitted  to  lead  rather  than  upon  the  reckless 
fancies  of  the  Boys  who  are  sure  to  surround  him  if 
he  gives  them  a  chance.  In  this  emergency  we  are 
sure  that  all  the  best  in  the  state  will  rally  with  us. 
The  eyes  of  Europe  are  upon  us,  and  we  must  vindi 
cate  ourselves.'" 

"Uncle  James,"  said  Sylvia  Morgan,  sweetly,  "I 
trust  that  you  will  remember  throughout  the  cam 
paign  that  the  eye  of  Europe  is  upon  you,  and  con 
duct  yourself  accordingly.  I  have  noticed  that  in 

84 


THE    CANDIDATE 

many  of  your  speeches  you  seemed  to  be  uncon 
scious  of  the  fact  that  Vienna  and  St.  Petersburg 
were  watching  you.  Such  behavior  will  never  do." 

Mr.  Grayson  smiled  once  more.  He  seemed  to  be 
less  disturbed  than  any  one  else  at  the  table,  yet  he 
knew  that  this  was  in  truth  a  warning  given  by  an 
important  wing  of  the  party,  and,  therefore,  he  must 
take  thought  of  it.  A  prominent  politician  of  Michi 
gan  was  present,  the  guest  of  Mr.  Grayson,  and  he 
did  not  take  the  threat  as  calmly  as  the  candidate. 

"The  writer  of  this  despatch  is  with  your  party,  I 
suppose,"  he  said  to  Mr.  Grayson. 

" Oh  yes;  it  is  Mr.  Churchill.  He  has  been  with  us 
since  the  start." 

"I  would  not  let  him  go  a  mile  farther;  a  man  who 
writes  like  that — why,  it's  a  positive  insult  to  you! — 
should  not  be  allowed  on  your  train." 

The  Michigan  man's  face  flushed  red,  and  in  his 
anger  he  brought  his  hand  down  heavily  on  the  table ; 
but  Harley  did  not  look  at  him,  his  full  attention 
being  reserved  for  the  candidate.  Here  was  a  test 
of  his  bigness.  Would  he  prove  equal  to  it  ? 

"  I  am  afraid  that  would  be  a  mistake,"  said  Jimmy 
Grayson,  amiably,  to  the  Michigan  man,  "a  mistake 
in  two  respects :  our  Constitution  guarantees  the  free 
dom  of  the  press,  and  the  Monitor  and  its  corre 
spondent  have  a  right  to  write  that  way,  if  they  wish 
to  do  so;  and  if  we  were  to  expel  Mr.  Churchill,  it 
would  give  them  all  the  greater  ground  for  complaint. 
Now,  perhaps  I  am,  after  all,  a  narrow  and  ignorant 
person  who  needs  restraint." 

He  spoke  the  last  sentence  in  such  a  whimsical 
tone  and  with  such  a  frank  smile  that  they  were  all 
forced  to  laugh,  even  the  Michigan  man.  But  Har 
ley  felt  relief.  The  candidate  had  shown  no  littleness. 

85 


THE    CANDIDATE 

"  I  was  sure  that  you  would  return  such  an  answer, 
Uncle  James,"  said  Sylvia  Morgan,  and  the  look  that 
she  gave  him  was  full  of  faith.  "Now,  I  mean  to 
help  you  by  converting  Mr.  Churchill." 

"How  will  you  do  that?" 

"I  shall  smile  upon  him,  use  my  winning  ways, 
and  draw  him  into  the  fold." 

There  was  a  slight  edge  to  her  voice,  and  Harley 
was  not  sure  of  her  meaning;  but  he  and  she  were 
together  in  the  parlor  an  hour  later,  when  they  met 
Churchill,  and  he  had  a  chance  to  see.  Churchill 
evidently  was  not  expecting  to  find  them  there,  but 
he  assumed  an  important  air,  knowing  that  his  de 
spatches  had  been  received  and  read,  and  feeling, 
therefore,  that  he  was  the  author  of  a  sensation. 
He  anticipated  hostility;  he  believed  that  Mr.  Gray- 
son's  relatives  and  friends  would  assail  him  with 
harsh  words,  and  he  had  spoken  already  to  one  or 
two  persons  of  the  six  months'  ordeal  that  he  would 
have  to  endure.  "But  we  must  stand  such  things 
when  they  are  incurred  in  the  line  of  duty,"  he  said, 
"and  I  have  a  way  which,  perhaps,  will  teach  them 
to  be  not  so  ready  in  attacking  me."  He  expected 
such  a  foray  against  him  now,  and  his  manner  became 
haughty  in  the  presence  of  Sylvia  Morgan  and  Harley. 

"We — that  is,  all  of  us — have  just  been  reading 
your  despatch  in  the  Monitor,"  she  said,  in  a  most 
winning  tone,  "and  on  behalf  of  Uncle  James  I  want 
to  thank  you,  Mr.  Churchill." 

Churchill  looked  surprised  but  doubtful,  and  did 
not  abate  the  stiffness  of  his  attitude  nor  the  severity 
of  his  gaze. 

"We  do  feel  grateful  to  you,"  she  continued,  in 
the  same  winning  tone.  "There  was  never  a  man 
more  willing  than  Uncle  James  to  learn,  and,  coming 

86 


THE    CANDIDATE 

out  of  the  depths  of  the  West,  he  knows  that  he 
needs  help.  And  how  beautifully  you  write,  Mr. 
Churchill!  It  was  all  put  so  delicately  that  no  one 
could  possibly  take  offence." 

It  was  impossible  to  resist  her  manner,  the  honey 
of  her  words,  and  Churchill,  who  felt  that  she  was 
but  giving  credit  where  credit  was  due,  became  less 
stern. 

"Do  you  really  like  it,  Miss  Morgan?"  he  asked, 
and  he  permitted  himself  a  smile. 

"Oh  yes,"  she  replied,  "and  I  noticed  that  the 
Monitor  alone  contained  an  article  of  this  character, 
all  about  those  big  men  who  are  watching  over  Uncle 
James,  and  will  not  let  him  go  wrong.  That  is  what 
you  correspondents  call  a  beat,  isn't  it?" 

Churchill  gave  Harley  a  glance  of  triumph,  but  he 
replied,  gravely: 

"I  believe  it  is  what  we  call  a  beat,  Miss  Morgan." 

"And  you  will  continue  to  help  us  in  the  same 
way,  won't  you,  Mr.  Churchill?"  she  continued. 
"You  know  who  those  great  men  are;  Mr.  Harley, 
here,  I  am  sure  does  not,  nor  does  Mr.  Blaisdell  nor 
Mr.  Hobart ;  you  alone,  as  the  Monitor  says,  can  come 
into  touch  with  such  important  circles,  and  you  will 
warn  us  again  and  again  in  the  columns  of  the  Monitor 
when  we  are  about  to  get  into  the  wrong  path.  Oh, 
it  would  be  a  great  service,  and  I  know  that  Uncle 
James  would  appreciate  it!  You  will  be  with  us 
throughout  the  campaign,  and  you  will  have  the 
chance!  Now,  promise  me,  Mr.  Churchill,  that  you 
will  do  it." 

Her  manner  had  become  most  appealing,  and  her 
face  was  slightly  flushed.  It  was  not  the  first  time 
that  Harley  realized  how  handsome  she  was,  and  how 
winning  she  could  be.  It  was  his  first  thought,  then, 

87 


THE    CANDIDATE 

what  a  woman  this  mountain  maid  would  make,  and 
his  second  that  "King  "  Plummet  should  continue  to 
look  upon  her  as  his  daughter — she  was  too  young 
to  be  his  wife. 

Nor  was  Churchill  proof  against  her  beauty  and 
her  blandishments.  He  felt  suddenly  that  for  her 
sake  he  could  overlook  some  of  Mr.  Grayson's  faults, 
or  at  least  seek  to  amend  them.  It  was  not  hard  to 
make  a  promise  to  a  pair  of  lovely  eyes  that  craved 
his  help. 

"Well,  Miss  Morgan,"  he  said,  graciously,  "since 
it  is  you  who  ask  it,  I  will  do  my  best.  You  know  I 
am  not  really  hostile  to  Mr.  Gray  son.  The  Monitor 
and  I  are  of  his  party,  and  we  shall  certainly  sup 
port  him  as  long  as  he  will  let  us." 

"You  are  so  kind!"  she  said.  "You  have  seen  so 
much  of  the  world,  Mr.  Churchill,  that  you  can  help 
us  greatly.  Uncle  James,  as  I  told  you,  is  always 
willing  to  learn,  and  he  will  keep  a  sharp  watch  on 
the  Monitor." 

"The  Monitor,  as  I  need  not  tell  you,"  said  Church 
ill,  "is  the  chief  organ  in  New  York  of  good  govern 
ment,  and  it  is  never  frivolous  or  inconsequential. 
I  had  hoped  that  what  I  sent  from  Milwaukee  would 
have  its  effect,  and  I  am  glad  to  see,  Miss  Morgan, 
that  it  has." 

Churchill  now  permitted  himself  a  smile  longer 
and  more  complacent,  and  Harley  felt  a  slight  touch 
of  pity  that  any  man  should  be  blinded  thus  by  con 
ceit.  And  Sylvia  did  not  spare  him;  by  alternate 
flattery  and  appeal  she  drew  him  further  into  the 
toils,  and  Harley  was  surprised  at  her  skill.  She 
did  not  seem  to  him  now  the  girl  from  Idaho,  the 
child  of  the  mountains  and  of  massacre,  but  a  woman 
of  variable  moods,  and  all  of  them  attractive,  no  whit 

88 


THE    CANDIDATE 

inferior  to  her  Eastern  sisters  in  the  delicate  airs  and 
graces  that  he  was  wont  to  associate  with  feminine 
perfection. 

As  for  Churchill,  he  yielded  completely  to  her  spell, 
not  without  some  condescension  and  a  memory  of  his 
own  superiority,  but  he  felt  himself  willing  to  comply 
with  her  request,  particularly  because  it  involved  no 
sacrifice  on  his  own  part.  He  and  the  Monitor  would 
certainly  keep  watch  over  Mr.  Grayson,  and  he  would 
never  hesitate  to  write  the  words  of  warning  when 
ever  he  felt  that  they  were  needed. 

"  Why  did  you  treat  him  that  way  ?"  asked  Harley, 
when  Churchill  had  gone. 

"What  do  you  mean  by  'that  way'?"  she  asked, 
and  her  chin  took  on  a  saucy  uplift. 

"Well,  to  be  plain,  why  did  you  make  a  fool  of 
him?" 

"Was  my  help  needed?" 

Harley  laughed. 

"Don't  be  too  hard  on  Churchill,"  he  said,  "he's 
the  creature  of  circumstance.  Besides,  you  must  not 
forget  that  he  is  going  to  watch  over  Mr.  Grayson." 

Churchill  did  not  join  the  general  group  until 
shortly  before  the  departure  for  the  evening  speech, 
and  then  he  approached  with  an  undeniable  air  of 
hostility  and  defence,  expecting  to  be  attacked  and 
having  in  readiness  the  weapons  with  which  he  had 
assured  himself  that  he  could  repel  them.  Miss 
Morgan,  it  is  true,  had  received  him  well,  but  she, 
so  he  had  begun  to  believe,  was  a  girl  of  perception 
and  discrimination,  and  the  fine  taste  shown  by  her 
would  not  be  exhibited  by  others.  The  candidate, 
surprising  him  much,  received  him  cordially,  though 
not  effusively,  and  he  was  made  welcome  in  similar 
manner  by  the  others.  There  was  no  allusion  what- 

89 


THE    CANDIDATE 

ever  to  his  despatch,  but  he  found  himself  included 
in  the  general  gossip,  just  as  if  he  were  one  of  a 
group  of  good  comrades. 

Yet  Churchill  was  not  wholly  pleased.  His  great 
stroke  seemed  to  be  ignored  by  all  except  Miss 
Morgan,  when  they  ought  to  be  stirred  deeply  by  it, 
and  he  felt  a  sense  of  diminished  importance.  There 
should  be  confusion  among  them,  or  at  least  trep 
idation.  He  closely  studied  the  faces  of  Mr.  Gray- 
son  and  the  others  to  see  if  they  were  merely  masking 
their  fire,  but  no  attack  came  either  then  or  later. 

Thus  two  or  three  days  passed,  and  the  campaign 
deepened  and  popular  interest  increased.  Not  since 
the  eve  of  the  Civil  War  had  there  been  such  com 
plexity  and  intensity  of  interests,  and  never  before 
had  the  personal  factor  been  so  strong.  Out  of  the 
vast  turmoil  quickly  emerged  James  Grayson  as  the 
most  picturesque  figure  that  ever  appeared  upon  the 
stage  of  national  politics  in  America.  His  powerful 
oratory,  his  daring,  and  his  magnetic  personality 
drew  the  eyes  of  all,  and  Harley  saw  that  wherever 
he  might  be  there  the  fight  would  be  thickest.  The 
correspondent's  intuition  had  been  right;  he  had 
come  from  a  war  on  the  other  side  of  the  world  to 
enter  another  and  greater  campaign,  one  in  which 
mind  counted  for  more. 

The  candidate,  in  his  rising  greatness,  was  even  a 
hero  to  his  own  family;  and  from  none  did  he  draw 
greater  admiration  than  from  his  niece,  Sylvia 
Morgan.  A  fierce  champion  of  the  West,  she  always 
bitterly  resented  the  unconscious  patronage  of  the 
East,  which  was  really  the  natural  patronage  of  age 
rather  than  of  convinced  superiority;  and  her  uncle's 
triumph  filled  her  with  delight,  because,  to  her  mind, 
it  was  the  triumph  of  the  West  that  she  loved  so  well, 

90 


THE    CANDIDATE 

Inspired  with  this  feeling,  she  appealed  to  Harley 
about  the  sixth  or  seventh  day  of  the  campaign  for 
his  opinion  on  its  result,  and  the  correspondent 
hesitated  over  his  answer.  He  found  that  his  feeling 
towards  her  in  this  week  had  changed  greatly,  the 
elements  in  her  character,  which  at  first  seemed  to 
him  masculine  and  forwa  d,  were  now  much  modified 
and  softened;  always  the  picture  of  that  child  in  the 
mountains,  alone  among  her  dead,  rose  before  him, 
and  then  followed  the  picture  of  the  little  girl  borne 
away  on  his  saddle-bow  by  the  brave  borderer.  He 
would  think  of  her  now  with  a  singular  softness,  a  real 
pity  for  those  misty  days  which  she  herself  had  almost 
forgotten.  Hence  he  hesitated,  because  what  he 
deemed  to  be  the  truth  would  have  in  it  a  sting  for 
her.  But  her  clear  eyes  instantly  read  his  hesitation. 

"You  need  not  be  afraid  to  tell  me  your  real 
opinion,  Mr.  Harley,"  she  said.  "If  you  think  the 
chances  are  against  Uncle  James,  I  should  like  you 
to  say  so." 

"I  do  think  they  are  against  him  now,  although 
they  may  not  be  so  later  on,"  replied  he,  equivocating 
with  himself  a  little.  "  It  is  an  uphill  fight,  and  then 
one  can  easily  deceive  one's  self;  in  a  nation  of  eighty 
or  ninety  millions  even  a  minority  can  surround  a 
candidate  with  a  multitude  of  people  and  a  storm 
of  enthusiasm." 

"But  Uncle  James  is  the  greatest  campaigner  ever 
nominated  for  the  Presidency,"  she  said,  "and  we 
shall  yet  win." 

Harley  said  nothing  in  reply,  but  he  gladly  noticed 
her  refusal  to  be  discouraged,  like  other  people  having 
an  admiration  for  courage  and  spirit.  In  fact,  it 
seemed  to  him  that  she  had  a  cheerfulness  somewhat 
beyond  the  occasion. 

91 


THE    CANDIDATE 

Three  days  later — they  were  in  Pittsburg  then — 
she  received  a  letter  addressed  in  a  strong,  heavy 
hand,  her  name  being  spelled  in  large  letters.  Sylvia 
Morgan  was  alone  in  the  hotel  parlor  when  it  was 
brought  to  her,  and  a  strange  shadow,  or  rather  the 
shadow  of  a  shadow,  came  over  her  face  as  she  held  it 
uneasily  in  her  fingers  and  looked  at  the  Idaho  post 
mark  in  the  corner.  She  knew  the  handwriting  well, 
and  she  knew  that  it  was  a  true  index  to  the  character 
of  its  author — rough,  strong,  and  large.  That  hand 
writing  could  not  lie,  neither  could  he.  She  con 
tinued  to  hesitate,  with  the  letter  in  her  hand;  it  was 
the  first  time  that  she  had  ever  done  so  with  a  letter 
of  his,  and  she  felt  that  she  was  disloyal.  She  heard 
a  voice  in  the  other  parlor — the  wide  doors  between 
were  open;  it  was  the  voice  of  Harley  speaking  to 
her  uncle,  and  a  flush  crept  into  her  cheeks.  Then  she 
shook  herself  in  a  sudden  little  whirl  of  anger,  and 
abruptly  opened  the  letter  with  a  swift,  tearing  sound. 
It  was  a  longer  letter  than  he  usually  wrote,  and  he 
said: 

"Mv  DEAREST  LITTLE  SYLVIA, — I  have  been  here  just  two 
hours,  and,  I  tell  you,  the  sight  of  Idaho  is  good  for  the  eyes, 
though  it  would  be  better  if  you  were  here  with  me,  as  you 
soon  will  be  all  the  time,  little  one." 

She  paused  a  moment,  looking  away,  and  the 
shadow  of  the  shadow  came  back  to  her  face.  Then 
she  murmured:  "He  is  the  best  man  in  the  world," 
and  resolutely  went  on: 

"The  more  I  see  of  the  other  states  the  better  I  like  Idaho, 
and  I  like  next  best  those  that  are  most  like  it.  Every  peak 
out  here  nodded  a  welcome  to  me  as  I  came  in  on  the  train. 
I've  known  them  all  for  thirty  years.  I  was  a  little  afraid  of 
them  at  first,  they  were  so  tall  and  solemn  with  their  white 

92 


THE    CANDIDATE 

crests,  but  we  are  old  friends  now — I'll  have'  a  white  crest 
myself  before  long,  and  I'm  fairly  tall  now,  though  perhaps 
I'll  never  be  solemn.  And  I  drew  a  deep  breath  and  a  long 
breath,  the  first  one  in  days,  the  moment  I  crossed  the  Idaho 
line.  The  East  sits  rather  heavy  on  me  [he  called  Chicago  the 
East],  and  my  eyes  get  tired  with  so  many  people  passing 
before  them.  Now,  I'm  not  running  down  the  East,  which 
is  all  right  in  its  own  way,  but  I  am  glad  we  have  so  much 
mountain  and  unwatered  plain  out  here,  because  then  the 
people  can  never  get  so  thick  that  they  tread  on  you;  not 
that  they  mean  to  do  it,  but  crowds  shove  just  because  they 
can't  help  it." 

Sylvia  smiled,  and  for  a  moment  there  was  a  little 
moisture  in  her  eyes.  "Good  old  daddy,"  she 
murmured.  Somehow,  the  pet  name  "daddy" 
seemed  just  to  fit  him.  Then  the  resolute  little 
frown  came  over  her  face  again  and  she  went  on. 

"  As  I  said,  Idaho  is  a  good  state.  I  like  it  when  I  am  here, 
and  I  like  it  all  the  better  when  I  come  back  to  it.  God's 
people  live  in  these  Rocky  Mountain  states,  and  that  is  a 
reason  why  I  am  so  red-hot  to  have  your  uncle  James  elected. 
He  is  one  of  God's  people,  too,  and  they  have  never  yet  had 
a  man  of  ours  sitting  in  the  White  House  down  there  at 
Washington  and  bossing  the  job.  I  think  maybe  he  will 
teach  them  a  new  trick  or  two  in  running  the  old  ship  of 
state.  But,  Sylvia,  I  am  not  thinking  so  much  even  of  him 
as  I  am  of  you.  I  know  that  I  am  a  good  deal  older  than 
you,  as  people  count  years,  but  I  can  truly  say  that  my 
heart  is  young,  and  I  think  that  I  will  be  a  husky  chap  for 
a  good  long  time  to  come.  You  know  I've  had  you  nearly 
all  your  life,  Sylvia,  and  we  have  the  advantage  of  knowing 
each  other.  You  are  on  to  all  my  curves — that  is,  you  don't 
have  to  get  married  to  me  to  learn  my  failings. 

"I  guess  I  haven't  the  polish  that  those  Eastern  fellows 
put  on,  or  that  is  put  on  them,  but  out  here  in  the  mountains 
I  amount  to  somebody  —  you  must  let  me  brag  a  little, 
Sylvia — and  if  a  man  doesn't  bow  pretty  low  to  Mrs.  William 
Plummer,  I'll  have  to  get  out  my  old  six-shooter — I  haven't 
carried  one  now  for  ten  years — and  shoot  all  the  hair  off  the 
top  of  his  head." 

93 


THE    CANDIDATE 

"He  thinks  he's  joking,  but  I  believe  he  would  do 
it.  Dear  old  daddy!"  murmured  Sylvia. 

"I  think  you  ought  to  become  Mrs.  Plummer  now,  Sylvia, 
but  I  guess  I'm  willing  to  wait  until  this  campaign  is  over. 
For  one  ought  to  be  willing  to  wait,  if  by  waiting  he  can  get 
such  a  good  thing.  Still,  I  hate  to  think  of  you  away  off 
there  in  the  East,  so  many  thousands  of  miles  away  from 
me,  where  there  are  no  friendly  old  mountains  to  look  down 
on  you  and  watch  over  you,  and  I'm  glad  that  my  little  girl 
is  coming  West  again  soon.  I'll  try  to  get  down  part  of  the 
way,  say  to  Nebraska  or  Kansas,  to  meet  you.  I  feel  safer 
when  I  have  you  close  by;  then,  if  any  of  those  young  Eastern 
fellows  should  try  to  kidnap  you  and  run  away  with  you, 
my  old  six-shooter  might  have  a  word  to  say." 

The  sudden  flush  rose  to  her  cheeks  at  this  new 
joke,  but  she  murmured  nothing.  The  rest  of  the 
letter  was  about  people  whom  they  knew  in  Boise 
and  elsewhere  in  Idaho,  and  it  closed: 

"Don't  think  I'm  growing  gushing  at  my  age,  Sylvia,  but 
Idaho,  fine  as  she  is,  isn't  near  complete  without  you,  and 
this  is  why  I  want  you  back  in  it  just  as  soon  as  you  can 
come:  Yours,  lovingly, 

"WILLIAM  PLUMMER." 

She  folded  the  letter  carefully  and  put  it  back  in 
the  envelope.  Then  she  sat  for  a  long  time,  and 
her  look  was  one  of  mingled  tenderness  and  sadness. 
Her  mind,  too,  ran  back  into  the  past,  and  she  had 
a  dim  vision  of  the  little  child,  who  was  herself,  borne 
away  on  his  saddle-horn  by  the  strong  mountaineer, 
who  held  her  safely  in  the  hollow  of  his  arm.  And 
then  the  years  followed,  and  she  always  looked  to 
the  mountaineer  for  the  protection  and  the  love  that 
were  never  wanting,  but  it  was  always  the  protection 
and  love  of  one  older  and  stronger  than  herself,  one 
who  belonged  to  the  generation  preceding  her  own. 

94 


THE    CANDIDATE 

Mr.  Grayson,  Harley,  and  the  others  were  gone, 
and  she  heard  no  voices  in  the  next  parlor.  She 
realized  with  suddenness  how  strongly  and  in  how 
brief  a  time  this  little  group,  travelling  through  a 
vast  country,  had  become  welded  together  by  the 
very  circumstances  of  their  travel — the  comradeship 
of  the  road — and  she  sighed.  She  and  Mrs.  Grayson 
were  about  to  leave  them  and  return  to  the  Grayson 
home  in  the  West,  because  women,  no  matter  how 
nearly  related,  could  not  be  taken  all  the  way  on  an 
arduous  campaign  of  six  months.  She  had  enjoyed 
this  life,  which  was  almost  the  life  of  a  soldier — the 
crowds,  the  enthusiasm,  the  murmur,  then  the  cheers 
of  thousands  of  voices,  the  flight  on  swift  trains  from 
one  city  to  another,  the  dash  for  the  station  some 
times  before  daylight,  and  all  the  freshness  and  keen 
ness  of  youth  about  her.  She  had  affiliated,  she  had 
become  one  of  the  group,  and  now  that  she  was  to 
leave  it  for  a  while  she  had  a  deep  sense  of  loss. 

There  was  a  step  beside  her,  and  Mrs.  Grayson, 
the  quiet,  the  tactful,  and  the  observant,  entered. 

"Why,  Sylvia,"  she  said,  "you  are  sitting  in  the 
dark!" 

She  touched  the  button,  turned  on  the  electric 
lights,  and  noticed  the  letter  lying  in  the  girl's  hand. 
Her  glance  passed  swiftly  to  Sylvia's  face  and  as 
swiftly  passed  away.  She  knew  instinctively  the 
writer  of  the  letter,  but  she  said  nothing,  waiting  for 
Sylvia  herself  to  speak. 

"I  have  a  letter  from  Mr.  Plummer,"  said  Sylvia. 

"What  does  he  say?" 

"Not  much  besides  his  arrival  at  Boise" — just  some 
foolishness  of  his;  you  know  how  he  loves  to  jest." 

"Yes,  I  have  long  known  that,"  said  Mrs.  Gray- 
son,  but  she  noticed  that  Sylvia  made  no  offer  to 

95 


THE    CANDIDATE 

show  the  letter.  Hitherto  the  letters  of  "  King  "  Plum- 
mer  had  been  read  by  all  the  Graysons  as  a  matter 
of  course,  just  as  one  shares  interesting  news. 

"He  is  a  good  man,  and  he  will  be  a  good  hus 
band,"  said  Mrs.  Grayson.  She  was  for  the  mo 
ment  ruthless  with  a  purpose,  and  when  she  said  the 
words,  although  affecting  not  to  watch,  she  saw  the 
girl  flinch — ever  so  little,  but  still  she  flinched. 

"The  best  man  in  the  world,"  repeated  Sylvia 
Morgan,  softly. 

"And  yet  there  are  other  good  men,"  said  Mrs. 
Grayson,  quietly.  "One  good  man  does  not  exclude 
the  existence  of  another." 

Sylvia  looked  up  at  her,  but  she  failed  to  take  her 
meaning.  Her  quiet  aunt  sometimes  spoke  in  par 
ables,  and  waited  for  events  to  disclose  her  meaning. 

Mrs.  Grayson  and  Miss  Morgan  were  to  leave  for 
the  West  the  next  afternoon,  and  shortly  before 
their  departure  Harley  came  to  tell  them  a  tem 
porary  good-bye.  Sylvia  and  he  chanced  to  be  alone 
for  a  little  while,  and  she  genuinely  lamented  her  de 
parture — they  had  become  franker  friends  in  these 
later  days. 

"I  do  not  see  why  women  cannot  go  through  a 
political  campaign  from  beginning  to  end,"  she  said; 
"I'm  sure  we  can  help  Uncle  James,  and  there  will 
be,  too,  so  many  interesting  things  to  see.  It  will  be 
like  a  war  without  the  wounds  and  death.  I  don't 
want  to  miss  any  of  it." 

"I  half  agree  with  .you,"  said  Harley,  smiling, 
"and  I  know  that  it  would  be  a  great  deal  nicer  for 
the  rest  of  us  if  you  and  Mrs.  Grayson  could  go 
along." 

He  paused,  and  he  had  a  sudden  bold  thought. 

"  If  anything  specially  interesting  happens  that 
96 


THE    CANDIDATE 

the  newspapers  don't  tell  about,  will  you  let  me  write 
you  an  account  of  it?"  he  asked.  "I  should  really 
like  to  tell  you." 

She  flushed  ever  so  little,  but  she  was  of  the  free- 
and-open  West,  and  Harley  always  gave  her  the  im 
pression  of  courteous  strength — he  would  take  no 
liberties. 

"You  can  write,"  she  said,  briefly,  and  then  she 
immediately  regretted  her  decision.  It  was  the 
thought  of  "King"  Plummer  that  made  her  regret 
it,  but  she  had  too  much  pride  to  change  it  now. 

Harley  was  at  the  train  with  Mr.  Grayson  when 
she  and  Mrs.  Grayson  left,  and  Sylvia  found  that 
he  had  seen  to  everything  connected  with  their  jour 
ney.  Without  making  any  noise,  and  without  ap 
pearing  to  work  much,  he  accomplished  a  good  deal. 
She  had  an  impulse  once  to  thank  him,  but  she  re 
strained  it,  and  she  gave  him  a  good-bye  that  was 
neither  cool  nor  warm,  just  sufficiently  conventional 
to  leave  no  inference  whatever.  But  when  the  train 
was  gone  and  Mr.  Grayson  and  he  were  riding  back 
in  the  cab  to  the  hotel,  the  candidate  spoke  of  her. 

"She's  a  good  girl,  Harley,"  he  said — he  and  Har 
ley  had  grown  to  be  such  friends  that  he  now  dropped 
the  "Mr."  when  he  spoke  directly  to  the  correspond 
ent.  "She's  real,  as  true  as  steel." 

He  spoke  with  emphasis,  but  Harley  said  nothing. 

The  group  seemed  to  lose  much  of  its  vividness, 
color,  and  variety  when  the  women  departed,  but 
they  settled  down  to  work,  the  most  intense  and  ex 
acting  that  Harley  had  ever  known.  All  the  great 
qualities  of  the  candidate  came  out ;  he  seemed  to  be 
made  of  iron,  and  on  the  stump  he  was  without  an 
equal;  if  any  one  in  the  audience  was  ready  with  a 
troublesome  question,  he  was  equally  ready  with  an 
7  97 


THE    CANDIDATE 

apt  reply;  nor  could  they  disturb  his  good  humor; 
and  his  smiling  irony! — the  rash  fool  who  sought  to 
deride  him  always  found  the  laugh  turned  upon  him 
self. 

Throughout  the  East  the  party  was  stirred  to 
mighty  enthusiasm,  and  their  antagonists,  who  had 
thought  the  election  a  foregone  conclusion,  were 
roused  from  their  security.  Again  the  combat  deep 
ened  and  entered  upon  a  yet  hotter  phase.  Mean 
while  Mr.  Goodnight,  Mr.  Crayon,  and  their  power 
ful  faction  within  the  party,  kept  quiet  for  the  time. 
Mr.  Gray  son  was  not  yet  treading  on  their  toes,  but 
he  knew,  and  his  friends  knew,  that  they  were  watch 
ing  every  motion  of  his  with  a  hundred  eyes.  Church 
ill's  Monitor  was  constantly  coming,  laden  with  sug 
gestion,  advice,  and  warning,  and  Churchill  himself 
alternately  wore  a  look  of  importance  and  disap 
pointment.  No  one  ever  made  the  slightest  reference 
to  his  wise  despatches.  He  had  expected  to  be  in 
sulted,  to  be  persecuted,  to  be  a  martyr  for  duty's 
sake,  and,  lo!  he  was  treated  always  with  courtesy, 
but  his  great  work  was  ignored;  he  felt  that  they 
must  see  it,  but  then  they  might  be  too  dull  to  notice 
its  edge  and  weight.  He  now  drew  a  certain  con 
solation  from  his  silent  suffering,  and  strengthened 
himself  anew  for  the  task  which  he  felt  required  a 
delicate  and  thoughtful  mind. 

Harley  wrote  several  times  to  Sylvia  Morgan,  both 
at  Boise"  and  at  her  aunt's  home — long,  careful  letters, 
in  which  he  strove  to  confine  himself  to  the  purely 
narrative  form,  and  to  make  these  epistles  interesting 
as  documents.  He  spoke  of  many  odd  personal  de 
tails  by  the  way,  and  even  at  the  distance  of  two 
thousand  miles  he  continued  to  touch  the  campaign 
with  the  breath  of  life,  although  told  at  second-hand. 

98 


THE    CANDIDATE 

The  replies  came  in  due  time,  brief,  impersonal, 
thanking  him  for  his  trouble,  and  giving  a  little  news 
of  Mrs.  Grayson,  "King"  Plummer,  and  herself. 
Harley  was  surprised  to  see  with  what  terseness, 
strength,  and  elegance  she  expressed  herself.  "Per 
haps  there  is  a  force  in  those  mountains  which  un 
consciously  teaches  simplicity  and  power,"  he  found 
himself  thinking.  He  was  surprised,  too,  one  day, 
when  he  was  packing  his  valise  for  a  hurried  start,  to 
see  all  her  letters  reposing  neatly  in  one  corner  of 
the  aforesaid  valise.  "  Now,  why  have  I  done  that  ?" 
he  asked;  "why  have  I  saved  those  letters?  They 
take  up  valuable  space;  I  will  destroy  them."  But 
when  he  closed  the  valise  the  undamaged  letters 
were  still  neatly  reposing  in  their  allotted  corner. 

Now  the  campaign  in  the  East  came  to  its  end, 
and  their  special  train  swung  westward  into  the 
states  supposed  to  be  most  doubtful — first  across  the 
Mississippi,  and  then  across  the  .Missouri.  The  cam 
paign  entered  upon  a  new  phase  amid  new  con 
ditions — in  a  new  world,  in  fact — and  it  required  no 
intuition  for  Harley  to  feel  that  strange  events  were 
approaching. 


VII 

HIS    GREATEST    SPEECH 

IT  was  the  candidate's  eighth  speech  that  day,  but 
Harley,  who  was  in  analytical  mood,  could  see  no 
decrease  either  in  his  energy  or  spontaneity  of  thought 
and  expression.  The  words  still  came  with  the  old 
dash  and  the  old  power,  and  the  audience  always 
hung  upon  them,  the  applause  invariably  rising  like 
the  rattle  of  rifle-fire.  They  had  started  at  daylight, 
hurrying  across  the  monotonous  Western  plains,  in 
a  dusty  and  uncomfortable  car,  stopping  for  a  half- 
hour  speech  here,  then  racing  for  another  at  a  second 
little  village,  and  then  a  third  race  and  a  third  speech, 
and  so  on.  Nor  was  this  the  first  day  of  such  labors; 
it  had  been  so  week  after  week,  and  always  it  lasted 
through  the  day  and  far  into  the  darkness,  some 
times  after  midnight.  But  there  was  no  sign  to  tell 
of  it  on  the  face  of  the  candidate,  save  a  slight  red 
ness  around  the  edge  of  the  eyelids,  and  a  little 
hoarseness  between  the  speeches  when  he  talked  to 
his  friends  in  an  ordinary  tone. 

The  village  in  which  Grayson  was  speaking  was  a 
tiny  place  of  twelve  or  fifteen  houses,  all  square,  un 
adorned,  and  ugly,  standing  in  the  centre  of  an  il 
limitable  prairie  that  rolled  away  on  either  side  ex 
actly  like  the  waves  of  the  sea,  and  with  the  same 
monotony.  It  was  a  weather  -  beaten  gathering. 
The  prairie  winds  are  not  good  for  the  complexion, 

zoo 


THE    CANDIDATE 

and  the  cheeks  of  these  people  were  brown,  not  red. 
On  the  outskirts  of  the  crowd,  still  sitting  on  their 
ponies,  were  cowboys,  who  had  ridden  sixty  miles 
across  the  Wyoming  border  to  hear  Grayson  speak. 
They  were  dressed  exactly  like  the  cowboys  of  the 
pictures  that  Harley  had  seen  in  magazine  stories 
of  the  Western  plains.  They  wore  the  sombreros  and 
leggings  and  leather  belts,  but  there  was  no  disorder, 
no  cursing,  no  shouting  nor  yelling.  This  was  a  phase 
that  had  passed. 

They  listened,  too,  with  an  eagerness  that  few 
Eastern  audiences  could  show.  This  was  not  to  them 
an  entertainment  or  anything  savoring  of  the  spec 
tacular;  it  was  the  next  thing  to  the  word  of 
God.  There  was  a  reverence  in  their  manner  and 
bearing  that  appealed  to  Harley,  and  he  read  easily 
in  their  minds  the  belief  that  Jimmy  Grayson  was 
the  greatest  man  in  the  world,  and  that  he  alone 
could  bring  to  their  country  the  greatness  that  they 
wished  as  much  for  the  country  as  for  themselves. 
Churchill  sneered  at  this  tone  of  the  gathering,  but 
Harley  took  another  view.  These  men  might  be 
ignorant  of  the  world,  but  he  respected  their  hero- 
worship,  and  thought  it  a  good  quality  in  them. 

They  heard  the  candidate  tell  of  mighty  corpora 
tions,  of  a  vague  and  distant  place  called  Wall 
Street,  where  fat  men,  with  soft,  white  fingers  and 
pouches  under  their  eyes,  sat  in  red-carpeted  offices 
and  pulled  little  but  very  strong  strings  that  made 
farmers  on  the  Western  plains,  two  thousand  miles 
away,  dance  like  jumping-jacks,  just  as  the  fat  men 
wished,  and  just  when  they  wished.  These  fat  men 
were  allied  with  others  in  Europe,  pouchy-eyed  and 
smooth-fingered  like  themselves,  and  it  was  their  ob 
ject  to  own  all  the  money-bags  of  the  world,  and 

xox 


THE    CANDIDATE 

gather  all  the  profits  of  the  world's  labor.  Harley, 
watching  these  people^  saw  a  spark  appear  in  their 
eyes  many  times,  but  *t  was  always  brightest  at  the 
mention  of  Wall  Street.  That  both  speaker  and 
those  to  whom  his  words  were  spoken  were  thorough 
ly  sincere,  he  did  not  doubt  for  a  moment. 

Grayson  ceased,  the  engine  blew  the  starting  sig 
nal,  the  candidate  and  the  correspondent  swung 
aboard,  and  off  they  went.  Harley  looked  back, 
and  as  long  as  he  could  see  the  station  the  little 
crowd  on  the  lone  prairie  was  still  watching  the  dis 
appearing  train.  There  was  something  pathetic  in 
the  sight  of  these  people  following  with  their  eyes 
until  the  last  moment  the  man  whom  they  consid 
ered  their  particular  champion. 

It  was  but  an  ordinary  train  of  day  cars,  the  red 
plush  of  the  seats  now  whitened  by  the  prairie  dust, 
and  it  was  used  in  common  by  the  candidate,  the 
flock  of  correspondents,  and  a  dozen  politicians,  the 
last  chiefly  committeemen  or  their  friends,  one  being 
the  governor  of  the  state  through  which  they  were 
then  travelling. 

Harley  sought  sleep  as  early  as  possible  that  night, 
because  he  would  need  all  his  strength  for  the  next 
day,  which  was  to  be  a  record  -  breaker.  A  tremen 
dous  programme  had  been  mapped  out  for  Jimmy 
Grayson,  and  Harley,  although  aware  of  the  candi 
date's  great  endurance,  wondered  how  he  would  ever 
stand  it.  They  were  to  cut  the  state  from  southeast 
to  northwest,  a  distance  of  more  than  four  hundred 
miles,  and  twenty-four  speeches  were  to  be  made  by 
the  way.  Fresh  from  war,  Harley  did  not  remem 
ber  any  more  arduous  journey,  and,  like  an  old  cam 
paigner,  he  prepared  for  it  as  best  he  could. 

It  was  not  yet  daylight  when  they  were  awakened 

102 


THE    CANDIDATE 

for  the  start  of  the  great  day.  A  cold  wind  moaned 
around  the  hamlet  as  they  ate  their  breakfast,  and 
then  hastened,  valise  in  hand,  and  still  half  asleep, 
to  the  train,  which  stood  steam  up  and  ready  to  be 
off.  They  found  several  men  already  on  board,  and 
Churchill,  when  he  saw  them,  uttered  the  brief  word, 
"Natives!"  They  were  typical  men  of  the  plains, 
thin,  dry,  and  weather-beaten,  and  the  correspond 
ents  at  first  paid  but  little  attention  to  them.  It 
was  common  enough  for  some  local  committeeman 
to  take  along  a  number  of  friends  for  a  half-day  or 
so,  in  order  that  they  might  have  a  chance  to  gratify 
their  curiosity  and  show  their  admiration  for  the 
candidate. 

But  the  attention  of  Harley  was  attracted  present 
ly  by  one  of  the  strangers,  a  smallish  man  of  middle 
age,  with  a  weak  jaw  and  a  look  curiously  com 
pounded  of  eagerness  and  depression. 

The  stranger's  eye  met  Harley's,  and,  encouraged 
by  his  friendly  look,  he  crossed  the  aisle  and  spoke 
to  the  correspondent. 

"You  are  one  of  them  newspaper  fellers  that 
travels  with  Grayson,  ain't  you?"  he  asked. 

Harley  admitted  the  charge. 

"And  you  see  him  every  day?"  continued  the  little 
man,  admiringly. 

"Many  times  a  day." 

"My!  My!  Jest  to  think  of  your  comin'  away 
out  here  to  take  down  what  our  Jimmy  Grayson  says, 
so  them  fellers  in  New  York  can  read  it!  I'll  bet  he 
makes  Wall  Street  shake.  I  wish  I  was  like  you, 
mister,  and  could  be  right  alongside  Jimmy  Grayson 
every  day  for  weeks  and  weeks,  and  could  hear  every 
word  he  said  while  he  was  poundin'  them  fellers  in 
Wall  Street  who  are  ruinin1  our  country.  He  is  the 

103 


THE    CANDIDATE 

greatest  man  in  the  world.  Do  you  reckon  I  could 
get  to  speak  to  him  and  jest  tech  his  hand?" 

"Why,  certainly,"  replied  Harley.  He  was  moved 
by  the  little  man's  childlike  and  absolute  faith  and 
his  reverence  for  Jimmy  Grayson  as  a  demigod.  It 
was  not  without  pathos,  and  Harley  at  once  took 
him  into  the  next  car  and  introduced  him  to  Gray- 
son,  who  received  him  with  the  natural  cordiality 
that  never  deserted  him.  Plover,  the  little  man  said 
was  his  name — William  Plover,  of  Kalapoosa,  Choc- 
taw  County.  He  regarded  Grayson  with  awe,  and, 
after  the  hand-shake,  did  not  speak.  Indeed,  he 
seemed  to  wish  no  more,  and  made  himself  still 
smaller  in  a  corner,  where  he  listened  attentively  to 
everything  that  Grayson  said. 

He  also  stood  in  the  front  row  at  each  stopping- 
place,  his  eyes  fixed  on  Grayson's  face  while  the  lat 
ter  made  his  speech.  The  candidate,  by-and-by,  be 
gan  to  notice  him  there.  It  is  often  a  habit  with 
those  who  have  to  speak  much  in  public  to  fix  the 
eye  on  some  especially  interested  auditor  and  talk 
to  him  directly.  It  assists  in  a  sort  of  concentration, 
and  gives  the  orator  a  willing  target. 

Grayson  now  spoke  straight  to  Plover,  and  Harley 
watched  how  the  little  man's  emotions,  as  shown  in 
his  face,  reflected  in  every  part  the  orator's  address. 
There  was  actual  fire  in  his  eyes,  whenever  Grayson 
mentioned  that  ogre,  Wall  Street,  and  tears  rose 
when  the  speaker  depicted  the  bad  condition  of  the 
Western  farmer. 

"Wouldn't  I  like  to  go  on  to  Washington  with 
Jimmy  Grayson  when  he  takes  charge  of  the  gov 
ernment!"  exclaimed  Plover  to  Harley  when  this 
speech  was  finished— "not  to  take  a  hand  myself, 
but  jest  to  see  him  make  things  hum!  Won't  he 

104 


THE    CANDIDATE 

make  them  fat  fellers  in  Wall  Street  squeal!  He'll 
have  the  Robber  Barons  squirmin'  on  the  griddle 
pretty  quick,  an'  wheat  '11  go  straight  to  a  dollar  a 
bushel,  sure!  I  can  see  it  now!" 

His  exultation  and  delight  lasted  all  the  morning; 
but  in  the  afternoon  the  depressed,  crushed  feeling 
which  Harley  had  noticed  at  first  in  his  look  seemed 
to  get  control. 

Although  his  interest  in  Grayson's  speeches  and 
his  devout  admiration  did  not  decrease,  Plover's 
melancholy  grew,  and  Harley  by-and-by  learned  the 
cause  of  it  from  another  man,  somewhat  similar  in 
aspect,  but  larger  of  figure  and  stronger  of  face. 

"To  tell  you  the  truth,  mister,"  said  the  man,  with 
the  easy  freedom  of  the  West,  "Billy  Plover — and 
my  cousin  he  is,  twice  removed — my  name's  San- 
didge — is  runnin'  away." 

"Running  away?"  exclaimed  Harley,  in  surprise. 
"Where's  he  running  to,  and  what's  he  running 
from?" 

"Where  he's  runnin'  to,  I  don't  know — California, 
or  Washington,  or  Oregon,  I  guess.  But  I  know 
mighty  well  what  he's  runnin'  away  from;  it's  his 
wife." 

"Ah,  a  family  trouble?"  said  Harley,  whose  deli 
cacy  would  have  caused  him  to  refrain  from  asking 
more.  But  the  garrulous  cousin  rambled  on. 

"It's  a  trouble,  and  it  ain't  a  trouble,"  he  con 
tinued.  "  It's  the  weather  and  the  crops,  or  maybe 
because  Billy  'ain't  had  no  weather  nor  no  crops, 
either.  You  see,  he's  lived  for  the  last  ten  years  on 
a  quarter-section  out  near  Kalapoosa,  with  his  wife, 
Susan,  a  good  woman  and  a  terrible  hard  worker, 
but  the  rain's  been  mighty  light  for  three  seasons, 
and  Billy's  wheat  has  failed  every  time.  It's  kinder 

105 


THE    CANDIDATE 

got  on  his  temper,  and,  as  they  'ain't  got  any  children 
to  take  care  of,  Billy  he's  been  takin'  to  politics. 
Got  an  idea  that  he  can  speak,  though  he  can't, 
worth  shucks,  and  thinks  he's  got  a  mission  to  whack 
Wall  Street,  though  I  ain't  sure  but  what  Wall 
Street  don't  deserve  it.  Susan  says  he  ain't  got  any 
business  in  politics,  that  he  ought  to  leave  that  to 
better  men,  an'  stay  an'  wrastle  with  the  ground  and 
the  weather.  So  that  made  them  take  to  spattin'." 

"And  the  upshot?" 

"Waal,  the  upshot  was  that  Billy  said  he  could 
stand  it  no  longer.  So  last  night  he  raked  up  half 
the  spare  cash,  leavin'  the  rest  and  the  farm  and 
stock  to  Susan,  an'  he  loped  out.  But  first  he  said 
he  had  to  hear  Jimmy  Grayson,  who  is  mighty  nigh  a 
whole  team  of  prophets  to  him,  and,  as  Jimmy's  goin' 
west,  right  on  his  way,  he's  come  along.  But  to 
night,  at  Jimmy's  last  stoppin'-place,  he  leaves  us 
and  takes  a  train  straight  to  the  coast.  I'm  sorry, 
because  if  Susan  had  time  to  see  him  and  talk  it 
over — you  see,  she's  the  man  of  the  two — the  whole 
thing  would  blow  over,  and  they'd  be  back  on  the 
farm,  workin'  hard,  and  with  good  times  ahead." 

Harley  was  moved  by  this  pathetic  little  tragedy 
of  the  plains,  the  result  of  loneliness  and  hard  times 
preying  upon  the  tempers  of  two  people.  "Poor 
devil!"  he  thought.  "It's  as  his  cousin  says;  if 
Susan  could  only  be  face  to  face  with  him  for  five 
minutes,  he'd  drop  his  foolish  idea  of  running  away 
and  go  home." 

Then  of  that  thought  was  born  unto  him  a  great 
idea,  and  he  immediately  hunted  up  the  cousin  again. 

"Is  Kalapoosa  a  station  on  the  telegraph  line?"  he 
asked. 

"Oh  yes." 

106 


THE    CANDIDATE 

"Would  a  telegram  to  that  point  be  delivered  to 
the  Plover  farm?" 

"Yes.     Why,  what's  up?" 

"Nothing;  I  just  wanted  to  know.  Now, can  you 
tell  me  what  time  to-night,  after  our  arrival,  a  man 
may  take  a  train  for  the  coast  from  Weeping  Water, 
our  last  stop?" 

"We're  due  at  Weepin'  Water,"  replied  the  cousin, 
"at  eleven  to-night,  but  I  cal'late  it  '11  be  nigher 
twelve  when  we  strike  the  town.  You  see,  this  is  a 
special  train,  runnin*  on  any  old  time,  an'  it's  liable 
now  and  then  to  get  laid  out  a  half  an  hour  or  more. 
But,  anyhow,  we  ought  to  beat  the  Denver  Express, 
which  is  due  at  twelve  -  thirty  in  the  mornin',  an' 
stops  ten  minutes  at  the  water-tank.  It  connects 
at  Denver  with  the  'Frisco  Express,  an'  I  guess  it's 
the  train  that  Billy  will  take." 

"Does  the  Denver  Express  stop  at  Kalapoosa?" 

"Yes.  Kalapoosa  ain't  nothin'  but  a  little  bit  of 
a  place,  but  the  Pawnee  branch  line  comes  in  there, 
and  the  express  gets  some  passengers  off  it.  Say, 
mister,  what's  up  ?" 

But  Harley  evaded  a  direct  answer,  having  now 
all  the  information  he  wished.  He  went'  back  to 
the  next  car  and  wrote  this  despatch: 

"  KALAPOOSA. 

"  SUSAN  PLOVER, — Take  to-day's  Denver  Express  and  get 
off  to-night  at  Weeping  Water.  You  will  find  me  at  Gray- 
son's  speaking,  standing  just  in  front  of  him.  Don't  fail  to 
come.  Will  explain  everything  to  you  then. 

"  WILLIAM  PLOVER." 

Harley  looked  at  this  message  with  satisfaction. 
"I  guess  I'm  a  forger,"  he  mused;  "but  as  the  es 
sence  of  wrong  lies  in  the  intention,  I'm  doing  no 
harm." 

107 


THE    CANDIDATE 

He  stopped  at  the  next  station,  prepaid  the  mes 
sage,  and,  standing  by,  saw  with  his  own  eyes  the 
operator  send  it.  Then  he  returned  to  the  train  and 
resumed  his  work  with  fresh  zest. 

And  he  had  plenty  to  do.  He  had  seen  Jimmy 
Grayson  make  great  displays  of  energy,  but  his  vital 
ity  on  this  terrible  day  was  amazing.  On  and  on 
they  went,  right  into  the  red  eye  of  the  sun.  The 
hot  rays  poured  down,  and  the  dust  whirled  over 
the  plain,  entering  the  car  in  clouds,  where  it  clothed 
everything — floors,  seats,  and  men  alike — until  they 
were  a  uniform  whitey-brown.  It  crept,  too,  into 
Harley's  throat  and  stung  his  eyelids,  but  at  each 
new  speech  the  candidate  seemed  to  rise  fresher  and 
stronger  than  ever,  and  at  every  good  point  he  made 
the  volleys  of  applause  rose  like  rifle-shots. 

Harley,  at  the  close  of  a  speech  late  in  the  day, 
sought  his  new  friend,  Plover.  The  little  man  was 
crushed  down  in  a  seat,  looking  very  gloomy.  Har 
ley  knew  that  he  was  thinking  of  Kalapoosa,  the 
spell  of  Grayson's  eloquence  being  gone  for  the  mo 
ment. 

"Tired,  Mr.  Plover?"  said  Harley,  putting  a  friend 
ly  hand  on  his  shoulder. 

"A  little  bit,"  replied  Plover. 

"But  it's  a  great  day,"  continued  Harley.  "I  tell 
you,  old  man,  it's  one  to  be  remembered.  There 
never  was  such  a  campaign.  The  story  of  this  ride 
will  be  in  all  the  papers  of  the  United  States  to 
morrow." 

"Ain't  he  great!  Ain't  he  great!"  exclaimed 
Plover,  brightening  into  enthusiasm.  "And  don't 
he  hit  Wall  Street  some  awful  whacks?" 

"He  certainly  is  great,"  replied  Harley.  "But 
you  wait  until  we  get  to  Weeping  Water.  That's 

108 


THE    CANDIDATE 

the  last  stop,  and  he'll  just  turn  himself  loose  there. 
You  mustn't  miss  a  word.'' 

"I  won't,"  replied  Plover.  "I'll  have  time,  be 
cause  the  Denver  Express,  on  which  I'm  going  to 
'Frisco,  don't  leave  there  till  twelve-forty.  No,  I 
won't  miss  the  big  speech  at  Weeping  Water." 

They  reached  Weeping  Water  at  last,  although  it 
was  full  midnight,  and  they  were  far  behind  time, 
and  together  they  walked  to  the  speaker's  stand. 

Harley  saw  Plover  in  his  accustomed  place  in  the 
front  rank,  just  under  the  light  of  the  torches,  where 
he  would  meet  the  speaker's  eye,  his  face  rapt  and 
worshipful.  Then  he  looked  at  his  watch. 

"Twelve-fifteen,"  he  said  to  himself.  "The  Den 
ver  Express  will  be  here  in  another  fifteen  minutes, 
and  Susan  will  fall  on  the  neck  of  her  Billy." 

Then  he  stopped  to  listen  to  Grayson.  Never  had 
Harley  seen  him  more  earnest,  more  forcible.  He 
knew  that  the  candidate  must  be  sinking  from  physical 
weakness — his  pale,  drawn  face  showed  that — but 
his  spirit  flamed  up  for  this  last  speech,  and  the 
crowd  was  wholly  under  the  spell  of  his  powerful 
appeal. 

Harley  met,  presently,  the  cousin,  Sandidge. 

"This  is  Grayson's  greatest  speech  of  the  day," 
Harley  said,  "and  how  it  must  please  Mr.  Plover!" 

"That's  so,"  replied  Sandidge;  "but  Billy's  all 
broke  up  over  it." 

"Why,  what's  the  matter?"  asked  Harley,  in  sud 
den  alarm. 

"The  Denver  Express  is  nearly  two  hours  and  a 
half  late — won't  be  here  until  three,  and  at  Denver 
it  '11  miss  the  'Frisco  Express;  won't  be  another  for  a 
day.  So  Billy,  who's  in  a  hurry  to  get  to  the  coast — 
the  old  Nick's  got  into  him,  I  reckon — is  goin'  by  the 

109 


THE    CANDIDATE 

express  on  the  B.  P.;  the  train  on  the  branch  line 
that  goes  out  there  at  two-ten  connects  with  it,  and 
so  does  the  accommodation  freight  at  two-forty.  It's 
hard  on  Billy — he  hates  to  miss  any  of  Jimmy  Gray- 
son's  speeches,  but  he's  bound  to  go." 

Harley  was  touched  by  real  sorrow.  He  drew  his 
pencil-pad  from  his  pocket,  hastily  wrote  a  few  lines 
upon  it,  pushed  his  way  to  the  stage,  and  thrust  what 
he  had  written  into  Mr.  Grayson's  hands.  The 
speaker,  stopping  to  take  a  drink  of  water,  read  this 
note: 

"  DEAR  MR.  GRAYSON, — The  Denver  Express  is  two  hours 
and  a  half  late.  For  God's  sake  speak  until  it  comes;  you 
will  hear  it  at  three,  when  it  pulls  into  the  station.  It  is  a 
matter  of  life  and  death,  and  while  you  are  speaking  don't 
take  your  eye  off  the  little  man  with  the  whiskers,  who  has 
been  with  us  all  day,  and  who  always  stands  in  front  and 
looks  up  at  you.  I'll  explain  everything  later,  but  please 
do  it.  Again  I  say  it's  a  matter  of  life  and  death. 

"JOHN  HARLEY." 

Gray  son  looked  in  surprise  at  Harley,  but  he 
caught  the  appealing  look  on  the  face  of  the  corre 
spondent.  He  liked  Harley,  and  he  knew  that  he 
could  trust  him.  He  knew,  moreover,  that  what 
Harley  had  written  in  the  note  must  be  true. 

Grayson  did  not  hesitate,  and,  nodding  slightly  to 
Harley,  turned  and  faced  the  crowd,  like  a  soldier 
prepared  for  his  last  and  desperate  charge.  His  eyes 
sought  those  of  the  little  man,  his  target,  looking  up 
at  him.  Then  he  fixed  Plover  with  his  gaze  and 
began. 

They  still  tell  in  the  West  of  Jimmy  Grayson's 
speech  at  Weeping  Water,  as  the  veterans  tell  of 
Pickett's  rush  in  the  flame  and  the  smoke  up  Ceme- 
te'ry  Hill.  He  had  gone  on  the  stage  a  half-dead 

no 

\ 


THE    CANDIDATE 

man.  He  had  already  been  speaking  nineteen  hours 
that  day.  His  eyes  were  red  and  swollen  with  train 
dust,  prairie  dust,  and  lack  of  sleep.  Every  bone  in 
him  ached.  Every  word  stung  his  throat  as  it  came, 
and  his  tongue  was  like  a  hot  ember  in  his  mouth. 
Deep  lines  ran  away  from  his  eyes. 

But  Jimmy  Grayson  was  inspired  that  night  on 
the  black  prairie.  The  words  leaped  in  livid  flame 
from  his  lips.  Never  was  his  speech  more  free  and 
bold,  and  always  his  burning  eyes  looked  into  those 
of  Plover  and  held  him. 

Closer  and  closer  pressed  the  crowd.  The  dark 
ness  still  rolled  up,  thicker  and  blacker  than  ever. 
Grayson's  shoulders  sank  away,  and  only  his  face 
was  visible  now.  The  wind  rose  again,  and  whistled 
around  the  little  town  and  shrieked  far  out  on  the 
lonely  prairie.  But  above  it  rose  the  voice  of  Gray- 
son,  mellow,  inspiring,  and  flowing  full  and  free. 

Harley  looked  and  listened,  and  his  admiration 
grew  and  grew.  "I  don't  agree  with  all  he  says," 
he  thought,  "but,  my  God!  how  well  he  says  it." 

Then  he  cowered  in  the  lee  of  a  little  building,  that 
he  might  shelter  himself  from  the  bitter  wind  that 
was  searching  him  to  the  marrow. 

Time  passed.  The  speaker  never  faltered.  A 
half -hour,  an  hour,  and  his  voice  was  still  full  and 
mellow,  nor  had  a  soul  left  the  crowd.  Grayson 
himself  seemed  to  feel  a  new  access  of  strength  from 
some  hidden  source,  and  his  form  expanded  as  he 
denounced  the  Trusts  and  the  Robber  Barons,  and 
all  the  other  iniquities  that  he  felt  it  his  duty  to  im 
pale,  but  he  never  took  his  eyes  from  Plover ;  to  him 
he  was  now  talking  with  a  force  and  directness  that 
he  had  not  equalled  before.  Time  went  on,  and,  as 
if  half  remembering  some  resolution,  Plover's  hand 

in 


THE    CANDIDATE 

stole  towards  the  little  old  silver  watch  that  he  car 
ried  in  the  left-hand  pocket  of  his  waistcoat.  But 
just  at  that  critical  moment  Grayson  uttered  the- 
magical  name,  Wall  Street,  and  Plover's  hand  fell  \ 
back  to  his  side  with  a  jerk.  Then  Grayson  rose  to 
his  best,  and  tore  Wall  Street  to  tatters. 

A  whistle  sounded,  a  bell  rang,  and  a  train  began 
to  rumble,  but  no  one  took  note  of  it  save  Harley. 
The  two-ten  on  the  branch  line  to  connect  with  the 
'Frisco  Express  on  the  B.  P.  was  moving  out,  and  he 
breathed  a  great  sigh  of  relief.  "One  gone,"  he  said 
to  himself;  "now  for  the  accommodation  freight." 

The  speech  continued,  but  presently  Grayson  stop 
ped  for  a  hasty  drink  of  water.  Harley  trembled. 
He  was  afraid  that  Grayson  was  breaking  down,  and 
his  fears  increased  when  he  saw  Plover's  eyes  leave 
the  speaker's  face  and  wander  towards  the  station. 
But  just  at  that  moment  the  candidate  caught  the 
little  man. 

"Listen  to  me!"  thundered  Grayson,  "and  let  no 
true  citizen  here  fail  to  heed  what  I  am  about  to  tell 
him." 

Plover  could  not  resist  the  voice  and  those  words 
of  command.  His  thoughts,  wandering  towards  the 
railroad  station,  were  seized  and  brought  back  by 
the  speaker.  His  eyes  were  fixed  and  held  by  Gray- 
son,  and  he  stood  there  as  if  chained  to  the  spot. 

Time  became  strangely  slow.  The  accommodation 
freight  must  be  more  than  ten  minutes  late,  Harley 
thought.  He  looked  at  his  watch,  and  found  that  it 
was  not  due  to  leave  for  five  minutes  yet.  So  he 
settled  himself  to  patient  waiting,  and  listened  to 
Grayson  as  he  passed  from  one  national  topic  to  an 
other.  He  saw,  too,  that  the  lines  in  the  speaker's 
face  were  growing  deeper  and  deeper,  and  he  knew 

XI2 


THE    CANDIDATE 

that  he  must  be  using  his  last  ounces  of  strength. 
His  soul  was  stirred  with  pity.  Yet  Grayson  never 
faltered. 

The  whistle  blew,  the  bell  rang,  and  again  the 
train  rumbled.  The  two-forty  accommodation  freight 
on  the  branch  line  to  connect  with  the  'Frisco  Ex 
press  on  the  B.  P.  was  moving  out,  and  Plover  had 
been  held.  He  could  not  go  now,  and  once  more 
Harley  breathed  that  deep  sigh  of  relief.  Twenty 
minutes  passed,  and  he  heard  far  off  in  the  east  a 
faint  rumble.  He  knew  it  was  the  Denver  Express, 
and,  in  spite  of  his  resolution,  he  began  to  grow  ner 
vous.  Suppose  the  woman  should  not  come? 

The  rumble  grew  to  a  roar,  and  the  train  pulled 
into  the  station.  Grayson  was  faithful  to  the  last, 
and  still  thundered  forth  the  invective  that  delighted 
the  soul  of  Plover.  The  train  whistled  and  moved 
off  again,  and  Harley  waited  in  breathless  anxiety. 

A  tall  form  rose  out  of  the  darkness,  and  a  woman, 
middle-aged  and  honest  of  face,  appeared.  The  cor 
respondent  knew  that  it  must  be  Susan.  It  could  be 
nobody  else.  She  was  looking  around  as  if  she  sought 
some  one.  Harley 's  eye  caught  Grayson's,  and  it 
gave  the  signal. 

"And  now,  gentlemen,"  said  the  candidate,  "I  am 
done.  I  thank  you  for  your  attention,  and  I  hope 
you  will  think  well  of  what  I  have  said." 

So  saying,  he  left  the  stage,  and  the  crowd  dis 
persed.  But  Harley  waited,  and  he  saw  Plover  and 
his  wife  meet.  He  saw,  too,  the  look  of  surprise  and 
then  joy  on  the  man's  face,  and  he  saw  them  throw 
their  arms  around  each  other's  neck  and  kiss  in  the 
dark.  They  were  only  a  poor,  prosaic,  and  middle- 
aged  couple,  but  he  knew  they  were  now  happy  and 
that  all  was  right  between  them. 

8  113 


THE    CANDIDATE 

When  Grayson  went  to  his  room,  he  fell  from  ex 
haustion  in  a  half -faint  across  the  bed;  but  when 
Harley  told  him  the  next  afternoon  the  cause  of  it 
all,  he  laughed  and  said  it  was  well  worth  the  price. 

They  obtained,  about  a  week  later,  the  New  York 
papers  containing  an  account  of  the  record-breaking 
day.  When  Harley  opened  the  Monitor,  Churchill's 
paper,  he  read  these  head-lines: 

GRAYSON'S    GAB 


TWENTY- FOUR    SPEECHES     IN     TWENTY  -  FOUR 
HOURS 

HE  TALKS  FIFTY  THOUSAND  WORDS  IN  ONE  DAY, 
AND  SAYS  NOTHING 

But  when  he  looked  at  the  Gazette,  he  saw  the  fol 
lowing  head-lines  over  his  own  account: 

HIS     GREATEST     SPEECH 

GRAYSON'S  WONDERFUL  EXHIBITION  OF  PLUCK 
AND    ENDURANCE 

AFTER  RIDING  FOUR  HUNDRED  MILES  AND   MAK 
ING  TWENTY-THREE  SPEECHES  HE  HOLDS 
AN    AUDIENCE    SPELLBOUND    FOR 
THREE    HOURS    AT    HIS 
TWENTY-FOURTH 

SPEAKS  FROM   MIDNIGHT  UNTIL  THREE   IN  THE 
MORNING   IN  THE  OPEN  AIR  AND   NOT  A 
SOUL    LEAVES,    THOUGH    A    BLIZ 
ZARD    WAS    RAGING 

Harley  sighed  with  satisfaction. 
"That  managing  editor  of  mine  knows  his  busi 
ness,"  he  said  to  himself. 


VIII 

SYLVIA'S  RETURN 

HARLEY  slept  late  the  next  day,  and  it  was  the 
heavy,  somewhat  nervous  slumber  of  utter  ex 
haustion,  like  that  which  he  had  more  than  once  ex 
perienced  in  the  war  on  the  other  side  of  the  world, 
after  days  of  incessant  marching.  When  he  awoke, 
it  was  afternoon  on  the  special  train,  and  as  he  joined 
the  group  he  was  greeted  with  a  suppressed  cheer. 

"I  understand  that  you  stayed  the  whole  thing 
through  last  night,  or  rather  this  morning,"  said 
Churchill,  in  a  sneering  tone.  "  There's  devotion  for 
you,  boys!" 

"I  was  amply  repaid,"  replied  Harley,  calmly. 
"His  last  speech  was  the  most  interesting;  in  fact,  I 
think  it  was  the  greatest  speech  that  I  ever  heard 
him  make." 

"I  fear  that  Jimmy  Grayson  is  overdoing  it,"  said 
the  elderly  Tremaine,  soberly.  "A  Presidential  nomi 
nee  is  not  exactly  master  of  himself,  and  I  doubt 
whether  he  should  have  risked  his  voice,  and  per 
haps  the  success  of  his  party,  speaking  in  that  cold 
wind  until  three  or  four  o'clock  this  morning." 

"  He  just  loves  to  hear  the  sound  of  his  own  voice," 
said  Churchill,  his  ugly  sneer  becoming  uglier.  "I 
think  it  undignified  and  absurd  on  the  part  of  a  man 
who  is  in  the  position  that  he  is  in." 

"Harley  was  silent,  and  he  was  glad  now  that  he 

"5 


THE    CANDIDATE 

had  said  nothing  in  his  despatch  about  the  real  rea 
son  for  Grayson's  long  speaking.  He  had  had  at 
first  a  little  struggle  over  it  with  his  professional  con 
science,  feeling  that  his  duty  required  him  to  tell, 
but  a  little  reflection  decided  him  to  the  contrary. 
He  had  managed  the  affair,  it  was  not  a  spontaneous 
occurrence,  and,  therefore,  it  was  the  private  business 
of  himself  and  Mr,  James  Grayson.  It  gave  him 
great  relief  to  be  convinced  thus,  as  he  knew  that 
otherwise  the  candidate  would  be  severely  criticised 
for  it  both  by  the  opposition  press  and  by  a  con 
siderable  number  of  his  own  party  journals. 

But  there  was  one  person  to  whom  Harley  related 
the  whole  story.  It  was  told  in  a  letter  to  Sylvia 
Morgan,  who  was  then  at  the  home  of  the  candidate 
with  Mrs.  Grayson.  After  describing  all  the  details 
minutely,  he  gave  his  opinion:  he  held  that  it  was 
right  for  a  man,  even  in  critical  moments  weighted 
with  the  fate  of  the  many,  to  halt  to  do  a  good  action 
which  could  affect  only  one  or  two.  A  great  general 
at  the  height  of  a  battle,  seeing  a  wounded  soldier 
helpless  on  the  ground,  might  take  the  time  to  order 
relief  for  him  without  at  all  impairing  the  fate  of 
the  combat;  to  do  otherwise  would  be  a  complete 
sacrifice  of  the  individual  for  the  sake  of  a  mighty 
machine  which  would  banish  all  humanity  from  life. 
He  noticed  that  even  Napoleon,  in  the  midst  of  what 
might  be  called  the  most  strenuous  career  the  world 
has  known,  turned  aside  to  do  little  acts  of  kindness. 

He  was  glad  to  find,  when  her  reply  came  a  few 
days  later,  that  she  agreed  with  him  at  least  in  the 
main  part  of  his  argument;  but  she  called  his  atten 
tion  to  the  fact  that  it  was  not  Mr.  Grayson,  but 
Harley  himself,  who  had  injected  this  strange  ele 
ment  into  the  combat  when  it  was  at  its  zenith;  her 

116 


THE    CANDIDATE 

uncle  James  had  merely  responded  to  a  strong  and 
moving  appeal,  which  he  would  always  do,  because 
she  knew  the  softness  of  his  heart;  yet  she  was  not 
willing  for  him  to  go  too  far.  A  general  might  be  able 
to  turn  aside  for  a  moment  at  the  height  of  the  battle, 
and  then  he  might  not.  She  wished  her  uncle  James 
to  be  judicious  in  his  generosity,  and  not  make  any 
sacrifice  which  might  prove  too  costly  alike  to  him 
self  and  to  others. 

"She  is  a  compound  of  romance  and  strong  com 
mon-sense,"  thought  Harley,  musing  over  the  letter. 
"She  wants  the  romance  without  paying  the  price. 
Now  I  wonder  if  that  is  not  rather  more  the  char 
acteristic  of  women  than  of  men." 

On  the  day  following  the  receipt  of  this  letter,  a 
look  of  joy  came  over  the  face  of  the  candidate  and 
there  was  a  visible  exhilaration  throughout  his  party. 
Men,  worn,  exhausted,  and  covered  with  the  dust  of 
the  great  plains,  began  to  freshen  up  themselves  as 
much  as  they  could;  there  was  a  great  brushing  of 
soiled  clothing,  a  hauling  out  of  clean  collars,  a  sharp 
ening  of  razors,  and  a  general  inquiry,  "How  do  I 
look?"  The  whole  atmosphere  of  the  train  was 
changed,  and  it  became  much  brighter  and  livelier. 
It  was  the  candidate  himself  who  wrought  the  trans 
formation,  after  reading  a  letter,  with  the  brief  state 
ment,  "Mrs.  Grayson  and  Sylvia  will  join  us  to 
morrow." 

All  had  begun  to  pine  for  feminine  society,  as  sol 
diers,  long  on  the  march,  desire  the  sight  of  women 
and  the  sound  of  their  voices.  It  is  true  that  they 
saw  women  often,  and  many  of  them  —  some  who 
were  beautiful  and  some  who  were  not — as  they 
sped  through  the  West,  but  it  was  always  a  flitting 
and  blurred  glimpse.  "I  haven't  got  an  impression 

117 


THE    CANDIDATE 

of  the  features  of  a  single  one  of  them,"  complained 
the  elderly  beau,  Tremaine.  Now  two  women 
whom  they  knew  well  and  liked  would  be  with  them 
for  days,  and  they  rejoiced  accordingly. 

It  was  at  a  little  junction  station  in  eastern  Col 
orado,  in  the  clear  blue-and-silver  of  a  fine  morning, 
that  Mrs.  Grayson  and  Sylvia  met  them.  Mr.  Gray- 
son  and  his  party  had  been  down  about  fifty  miles 
on  a  branch  line  for  a  speech  at  a  town  of  importance, 
and  they  had  begun  the  return  journey  before  day 
light  in  order  to  make  the  connection.  But  when 
the  gray  dawn  came  through  the  dusty  car-windows, 
it  was  odd  to  see  how  neat  and  careful  all  appeared, 
even  under  such  difficult  circumstances. 

Harley  was  surprised  to  realize  the  eagerness  with 
which  he  looked  forward  to  the  meeting,  and  put  it 
down  to  the  long  lack  of  feminine  society.  But  he 
wondered  if  Sylvia  had  changed,  if  the  nearer  ap 
proach  of  her  marriage  with  "King"  Plummer  would 
make  her  reserved  and  with  her  outlook  on  the  future 
— that  is,  as  one  apart. 

He  had  a  favorable  seat  in  the  car  and  he  was  the 
first  to  see  them.  The  junction  was  a  tiny  place  of 
not  more  than  a  half-dozen  houses  standing  in  the 
midst  of  a  great  plain,  and  it  made  a  perfect  sil 
houette  against  the  gorgeous  morning  sunlight.  Har 
ley  saw  two  slender  figures  outlined  there  in  front  of 
the  station  building,  and,  despite  the  distance,  he 
knew  them.  There  was  to  him  something  typically 
American  and  typically  Western  in  these  two  women 
coming  alone  into  that  vast  emptiness  and  waiting 
there  in  the  utmost  calmness,  knowing  that  they  were 
as  safe  as  if  they  were  in  the  heart  of  a  great  city, 
and  perhaps  safer. 

He  knew,  too,  which  was  Sylvia;  her  manner,  her 
1*8 


THE    CANDIDATE 

bearing,  the  poise  of  her  figure,  had  become  familiar 
to  him.  Slender  and  upright,  she  was  in  harmony 
with  the  majesty  of  these  great  and  silent  spaces, 
but  she  did  not  now  seem  bold  and  forward  to  him; 
she  was  clothed  in  a  different  atmosphere  alto 
gether. 

There  was  a  warm  greeting  for  Mr.  Grayson  and 
the  hand  of  fellowship  for  the  others.  Harley  held 
Sylvia's  fingers  in  his  for  a  moment — just  a  moment 
— and  said,  with  some  emphasis: 

"Our  little  party  has  not  been  the  same  without 
you,  Miss  Morgan." 

"  I'm  glad  to  hear  you  say  it,"  she  replied,  frankly, 
"and  I'm  glad  to  be  back  with  all  of  you.  It's  a 
campaign  that  I  enjoy." 

"  It  can  be  said  for  it  that  it  is  never  monotonous." 

"That's  one  reason  why  I  like  it." 

She  laughed  a  little,  making  no  attempt  to  conceal 
her  pleasure  at  this  renewed  touch  with  fresh,  young 
life,  and,  because  it  was  so  obvious,  Harley  laughed 
also  and  shared  her  pleasure.  He  noticed,  too,  the 
new  charm  that  she  had  in  addition  to  the  old,  a 
softening  of  manner,  a  slight  appeal  that  she  made, 
without  detracting  in  any  wise  from  the  impression 
of  strength  and  self-reliance  that  she  gave. 

"Where  did  you  leave  'King'  Plummer?"  he  ask 
ed,  unguardedly. 

"In  Idaho,"  she  replied,  with  sudden  gravity. 
"He  is  well,  and  I  believe  that  he  is  happy.  He  is 
umpiring  a  great  quarrel  between  the  cattlemen  and 
the  sheepmen,  or,  rather,  he  is  compelling  both  to 
listen  to  him  and  to  agree  to  a  compromise  that  he 
has  suggested.  So  he  is  really  enjoying  himself. 
You  do  not  know  the  delight  that  he  takes  in  the 
handling  of  large  and  rather  rough  affairs." 

119 


THE    CANDIDATE 

"I  can  readily  guess  it;  he  seems  to  have  been 
made  for  them." 

But  she  said  no  more  of  " King"  Plummer,  quickly 
turning  the  talk  to  the  campaign,  and  showing  at 
once  that  she  had  followed  every  phase  of  it  with 
the  closest  and  most  anxious  attention.  Mrs.  Gray- 
son  had  walked  on  a  little  and  was  talking  to  her 
husband,  but  she  glanced  back  and  saw  what  she 
had  expected.  She  and  her  husband  turned  pres 
ently  in  their  walk,  and  she  said,  looking  significantly 
at  Harley  and  Miss  Morgan: 

"It  is  a  great  pleasure  to  Sylvia  to  be  with  your 
party  again." 

There  was  such  a  curious  inflection  to  her  voice 
that  the  candidate  exclaimed,  "Why,  what  do  you 
mean,  Anna?"  and  she  merely  replied,  "Oh,  noth 
ing!"  which  meant  everything.  The  candidate,  un 
derstanding,  looked  more  attentively,  and  his  eyes 
contracted  a  little,  as  if  he  were  not  wholly  pleased 
at  what  he  saw. 

"It's  a  free  world,"  he  said,  "but  I  am  glad  that 
'  King'  Plummer  will  be  with  us  again  in  a  few  days." 

But  his  wife,  able  to  see  further  than  he,  merely 
looked  thoughtful  and  did  not  reply. 

Harley 's  solitary  talk  with  Miss  Morgan  was  brief; 
it  could  not  be  anything  else  under  the  circumstances ; 
Hobart,  with  all  sail  set,  bore  down  upon  them. 

"Come!  Come,  Harley!"  he  cried,  with  the  perfect 
frankness  that  usually  distinguished  him,  "we  don't 
permit  any  selfish  monopolists  here.  We  are  all  cast 
away  on  a  desert  island,  so  to  speak,  and  there  are  a 
lot  of  us  men  and  only  two  women,  one  of  whom  is 
mortgaged!" 

Then  he  was  welcoming  Miss  Morgan  in  florid 
style ;  and  there,  too,  was  the  ancient  beau,  Tremaine, 

tao 


THE    CANDIDATE 

displaying  all  his  little  arts  of  elegance  and  despising 
Hobart's  obvious  methods ;  and  Blaisdell,  and  all  the 
others,  forming  a  court  about  her  and  giving  her  an 
attention  which  could  not  fail  to  please  her  and 
bring  a  deeper  red  to  her  cheeks  and  a  brighter  flash 
to  her  eyes.  It  seemed  to  Mrs.  Grayson,  looking  on, 
that  the  girl  had  been  hungry  for  something  which 
she  had  now  found,  and  in  finding  which  she  was  hap 
py,  and,  despite  her  sense  of  loyalty,  she  felt  a  glow 
of  sympathy. 

But  the  sense  of  duty  in  Mrs.  Grayson  was  strong, 
and  while  she  hesitated  much  and  sought  for  mental 
excuses  to  avoid  it,  she  wrote  a  long  letter  to  " King" 
Plummer  that  evening  in  the  waiting-room  of  a  little 
wayside  hotel.  In  many  things  that  she  said  she 
was  beautifully  vague;  but  she  told  him  how  glad 
she  was  that  he  would  join  them  so  soon;  she  spoke 
of  the  quarrel  between  the  cattlemen  and  the  sheep 
men  as  a  closed  affair,  and  complimented  him  on  his 
skill  in  bringing  it  to  an  end  so  quickly ;  it  was  all  the 
better  because  now  he  could  come  to  them  at  once, 
and  she  boldly  said  how  much  Sylvia  was  missing 
him.  But  when  she  sealed  and  addressed  the  letter 
she  reflected  awhile  before  dropping  it  in  the  box  on 
the  wall. 

"Now,  ought  I  to  do  this?"  she  asked  herself. 
"Have  I  the  right  to  hasten  or  to  divert  the  course 
of  affairs?" 

She  decided  that  she  had  the  right,  and  mailed  the 
letter. 

"King"  Plummer  came  a  few  days  later — he  said 
that  he  "just  blew  in  a  few  days  ahead  of  time" — 
and  received  a  hearty  welcome  from  everybody,  which 
he  returned  in  double  measure  in  his  broad,  spon 
taneous  way.  He  placed  a  sounding  kiss  upon  the 

121 


THE    CANDIDATE 

somewhat  flushed  brow  of  Sylvia  Morgan,  and  ex 
claimed,  "Well,  my  little  girl,  aren't  you  glad  to  see 
me  ahead  of  time?"  She  replied  quickly,  though 
not  loudly,  that  she  was,  and  then  he  announced  that 
he  would  stay  with  them  for  a  long  while.  "These 
are  my  mountains,"  he  said,  "and  I'll  have  to  show 
you  the  way  through  them." 

"King"  Plummer,  although  inclined  to  be  master 
ful,  was  admitted  at  once  into  the  full  membership 
of  the  party,  and  he  entered  upon  what  he  called  his 
first  long  vacation.  He  showed  the  keenest  enjoy 
ment  in  the  speeches,  the  crowds,  the  enthusiasm, 
the  travelling,  and  the  quick-shifting  scenes.  He  was 
a  boy  with  the  boys,  but  the  watchful  Mrs.  Grayson 
noticed  a  shade  of  difference  between  Sylvia  with 
the  "King"  present  and  Sylvia  with  the  "King"  ab 
sent.  With  him  present  there  was  a  little  restraint, 
a  slight  effort  on  her  part  to  watch  herself ;  but  with 
him  away  there  was  great  spontaneity  and  freedom, 
especially  with  the  younger  members  like  Harley  and 
Hobart,  and  even  Churchill,  who  reluctantly  ad 
mitted  that  Miss  Morgan  was  a  fine  girl,  "though 
rather  Western,  you  know." 

Mrs.  Grayson  began  to  take  thought  with  herself 
again,  and  the  thought  was  taken  with  great  serious 
ness.  Had  she  been  right  in  bringing  "  King"  Plum 
mer  on  so  soon,  although  he  did  not  even  know  that 
he  was  brought?  She  resolutely  asked  herself,  too, 
how  much  of  her  action  had  been  due  to  the  knowl 
edge  that  the  "King"  was  a  very  important  man  to 
her  husband,  controlling,  as  he  probably  could,  the 
vote  of  several  mountain  states.  This  question, 
which  she  could  not  answer,  troubled  her,  and  so  did 
the  conduct  of  Sylvia,  who,  usually  so  frank  and 
straightforward,  seemed  to  be  suffering  from  a  strange 

122 


THE   CANDIDATE 

attack  of  perverseness.  For  years  she  had  obeyed 
"King"  Plummer  as  her  protector  and  as  the  one 
who  had  rightful  control,  but  now  she  began  to  give 
him  orders  and  to  criticise  many  things  that  he  did, 
to  the  unlimited  astonishment  of  the  "King,"  who 
had  never  expected  anything  of  the  kind. 

"What  is  the  matter  with  Sylvia?  I  never  knew 
her  to  act  in  such  a  way  before,"  he  said  to  Mrs. 
Gray  son. 

"  As  she  is  to  be  your  wife,  and  not  a  sort  of  ward, 
she  is  merely  giving  you  a  preliminary  training,"  re 
plied  the  candidate's  wife,  dryly. 

"King"  Plummer  looked  at  her  in  doubt,  but  he 
pondered  the  question  deeply  and  was  remarkably 
meek  the  next  time  Sylvia  scolded  him,  whereat  she 
showed  less  pleasure  than  ever.  "King"  Plummer 
was  still  in  a  maze  and  did  not  know  what  to  say. 
The  very  next  day  he  found  himself  deeper  in  the 
tangle,  being  scolded  by  Mrs.  Grayson  herself. 

They  were  waiting  at  a  small  station  for  some  car 
riages  which  were  to  take  them  across  the  prairie, 
and,  the  air  being  clear  and  bracing,  they  stood  out 
side,  where  Miss  Morgan,  as  usual,  held  an  involun 
tary  court.  A  cloud  of  dust  arose,  and  behind  it 
quickly  came  a  great  herd  of  cattle,  driven  with  much 
shouting  and  galloping  of  horses  by  a  half-dozen  cow 
boys.  The  herd  was  passing  to  the  south  a  few  hun 
dred  yards  from  the  station,  but  Sylvia,  thoroughly 
used  to  such  sights,  was  not  interested.  Not  so  some 
of  the  others  who  went  out  to  see,  and  among  them 
was  "King"  Plummer,  who  began  at  once  to  calcu 
late  the  number  of  cattle,  their  value,  and  how  far 
they  had  come,  all  of  which  he  did  with  great  shrewd 
ness. 

The  "King's"  absorption  in  this  congenial  occu- 


THE    CANDIDATE 

pation  was  increased  when  he  recognized  the  leader 
of  the  cowboys  as  an  old  friend  and  former  associate 
in  Idaho  and  Montana,  with  whom  he  could  exchange 
much  interesting  news.  Borrowing  a  horse  from  one 
of  the  men,  he  rode  on  with  them  for  a  mile  or  two. 

Mrs.  Grayson  had  seen  "King"  Plummer  leave  the 
group  about  Sylvia,  and  she  marked  it  with  a  disap 
proving  eye.  She  would  have  spoken  to  him  then, 
but  she  had  no  chance,  and  she  watched  him  until 
he  borrowed  the  horse  and  rode  on  with  the  cowboys. 
Then  she  looked  the  other  way  and  saw  two  figures 
walking  up  and  down  the  station  platform.  They 
were  Sylvia  and  Harley,  engrossed  in  talk  and  caring 
not  at  all  for  the  passage  of  the  herd.  The  two 
brown  heads  were  not  far  apart,  and  Mrs.  Grayson 
was  near  enough  to  see  that  Sylvia's  color  was  beauti 
ful. 

The  candidate's  wife  was  annoyed,  and,  like  any 
other  good  woman,  she  was  ready  to  vent  her  annoy 
ance  on  somebody.  She  walked  out  a  little  from  the 
station,  and  presently  she  met  "King"  Plummer 
coming  back.  He  dismounted,  returned  the  horse 
to  its  owner,  and  approached  her,  the  sparkle  of  en 
thusiasm  in  his  eyes  lighting  up  his  brown  face. 

"That  was  a  pleasant  surprise,  Mrs.  Grayson,"  he 
exclaimed.  "The  leader  of  those  boys  was  Bill  As- 
cott,  whom  I've  known  twenty  years,  an'  he's  brought 
those  cattle  so  cleverly  all  the  way  from  Montana  that 
they  are  in  as  good  condition  now  as  they  were  the 
day  they  started.  And  I  had  a  fine  gallop  with 
them,  too." 

He  had  more  to  say,  but  he  stopped  when  he 
noticed  her  deeply  frowning  face. 

"What  is  wrong,  Mrs.  Grayson?"  he  asked,  in  ap 
prehension. 

124 


THE    CANDIDATE 

"Oh,  you  had  a  fine  gallop,  did  you!"  she  said,  in 
a  tone  of  biting  irony.  "I  am  glad  of  it.  Mr.  Will 
iam  Plummet  ought  to  have  his  gallop,  under  any 
circumstances!" 

He  stared  at  her  in  increasing  amazement. 

"I  don't  know  that  I'm  counted  a  dull  man,  but 
you've  got  me  now,  Mrs.  Grayson." 

She  pointed  to  the  station  platform,  where  the  two 
brown  heads  were  still  not  far  apart. 

"Without  a  word  you  left  the  woman  that  you  are 
going  to  marry  to  look  at  a  lot  of  cattle." 

"Why,  Sylvia  is  only  a  child,  an'  we've  been  used 
to  each  other  for  years.  She  understands." 

"Yes,  she  will  understand,  or  she  isn't  a  woman," 
said  Mrs.  Grayson,  and  if  possible  the  biting  irony  of 
her  tone  increased.  "You  will  see,  too,  Mr.  William 
Plummer,  that  one  man  at  least  did  not  neglect  her 
for  the  sake  of  some  dusty  cattle." 

Mr.  Plummer  stared  again  at  the  pair  on  the  plat 
form,  and  a  mingled  look  of  pain  and  apprehension 
came  into  his  eyes. 

"You  surely  can't  mean  anything  of  that  kind! 
Why,  little  Sylvia  has  promised — " 

"All  things  are  possible,  Mr.  Plummer.  My  hus 
band  is  a  lawyer,  and  I  have  heard  him  quote  often 
a  maxim  of  the  law  which  runs  something  like  this, 
'  He  must  keep  who  can.' " 

She  turned  away  and  would  not  have  another  word 
to  say  to  him  then,  leaving  Mr.  Plummer  in  much  per 
plexity  and  trouble. 

Mrs.  Grayson  herself  was  in  a  similar  perplexity 
and  trouble  throughout  the  day.  Her  doubts  about 
the  letter  she  had  written  to  "King"  Plummer  in 
creased.  Perhaps  it  would  have  been  wiser  to  let 
affairs  take  their  own  course.  The  sight  of  the  two 

I2S 


THE   CANDIDATE 

brown  heads  and  the  two  young  faces  on  the  station 
platform  had  made  her  very  thoughtful,  and  she 
drew  comparisons  with  "King"  Plummer;  there 
might  be  days  in  autumn  which  resembled  those  of 
spring,  but  it  was  only  a  fleeting  resemblance,  be 
cause  autumn  was  itself,  with  its  own  coloring,  its  own 
fruits,  and  its  own  days,  and  nothing  could  turn  it 
into  spring.  "  I  will  not  meddle  again,"  she  resolved, 
and  then  her  mind  was  taken  off  the  matter  by  an 
incident  in  her  husband's  progress.  In  Nebraska 
the  men  left  the  train  for  a  few  days,  travelling  by 
carriage,  and  here  occurred  the  event  which  created 
a  great  stir  in  its  time. 


ANIGHT,  after  a  beautiful,  brown  October  day, 
came  on  dark  and  rainy,  with  fierce  winds  off 
the  Rocky  Mountains;  and  Harley,  who  was  in  the 
first  carriage  with  the  candidate,  could  barely  see 
the  heads  of  the  horses,  gently  rising  and  falling  as 
they  splashed  through  the  mud.  Behind  him  he 
heard  faintly  the  sound  of  wheels  amid  the  wind  and 
rain,  and  he  knew  that  the  other  correspondents  and 
the  politicians,  who  always  hung  on  the  trail  of  Jimmy 
Grayson,  shifting  according  to  locality,  were  following 
their  leader  in  single  file. 

Mrs.  Grayson  and  Sylvia  had  remained  on  the 
special  car,  and  expected  to  join  them  on  the  fol 
lowing  day,  although  Sylvia  was  quite  prepared  to 
take  the  carriage  journey  across  the  country  and 
dare  all  the  risks  of  the  darkness  and  possible  bad 
weather.  Indeed,  with  the  fine  spirit  of  the  West 
and  her  own  natural  high  courage,  she  wanted  to  go, 
saying  that  she  could  stand  as  much  as  a  man,  and 
only  Mrs.  Grayson's  refusal  to  accompany  her  and 
the  consequent  lack  of  a  chaperone  compelled  her  to 
abandon  the  idea.  Now  Harley  and  Mr.  Grayson 
were  very  glad  that  she  was  not  out  in  the  storm. 

Although  the  hood  of  the  carriage  was  down  and 
the  collar  of  Harley's  heavy  coat  was  turned  up  to 

127 


THE    CANDIDATE 

his  ears,  the  cold  rain,  lashed  by  the  wind,  struck  him 
in  the  face  now  and  then. 

"You  don't  do  anything  by  halves  out  here  on 
these  Western  plains,"  he  said. 

"No,"  replied  Jimmy  Grayson,  "we  don't  deal  in 
disguises;  when  we're  hot  we're  hot,  and  when  we're 
cold  we're  cold.  Now,  after  a  perfect  day,  we're 
having  the  wildest  kind  of  a  night.  It's  our  way." 

It  was  then  ten  o'clock,  and  they  had  expected  to 
reach  Speedwell  at  midnight,  crossing  the  Platte  River 
on  the  big  wooden  bridge;  but  the  rain,  the  darkness, 
and  the  singularly  sticky  quality  of  the  black  Ne 
braska  mud  would  certainly  delay  them  until  one 
o'clock  in  the  morning,  and  possibly  much  later.  It 
was  not  a  cheerful  prospect  for  tired  and  sleepy  men. 

"Mr.  Grayson,"  said  Harley,  "without  seeking  to 
discredit  you,  I  wish  I  had  gone  to  another  war  in 
stead  of  coming  out  here  with  you.  That  would 
have  been  less  wearing." 

The  candidate  laughed. 

"But  you  are  seeing  the  West  as  few  men  from 
New  York  ever  see  it,"  he  said. 

The  driver  turned,  and  a  little  stream  of  water  ran 
off  his  hat-brim  into  Harley's  face. 

"It's  the  wind  that  holds  us  back,  Mr.  Grayson," 
he  said;  "if  we  leave  the  road  and  cut  across  the 
prairie  on  the  hard  ground  it  will  save  at  least  an 
hour." 

"By  all  means,  turn  out  at  once,"  said  the  candi 
date,  "and  the  others  will  follow." 

"Wise  driver;  considerate  man!"  remarked  Harley. 

There  was  marked  relief  the  moment  the  wheels  of 
the  carriage  struck  the  brown  grass.  They  rolled 
easily  once  more,  and  the  off  horse,  lifting  up  his 
head,  neighed  cheerfully. 

128 


THE    CANDIDATE 

"It  means  midnight,  and  not  later,  Harley,"  said 
the  candidate,  in  a  reassuring  tone. 

Harley  leaned  back  in  his  seat,  and  trusted  all 
now  to  the  wise  and  considerate  driver  who  had  pro 
posed  such  a  plan.  The  night  was  just  as  black  as  a 
hat,  and  the  wind  and  rain  moaned  over  the  bleak 
and  lonesome  plains.  They  were  far  out  in  Ne 
braska,  and,  although  they  were  near  the  Platte 
River,  it  was  one  of  the  most  thinly  inhabited  sec 
tions  of  the  state.  They  had  not  seen  a  light  since 
leaving  the  last  speaking-place  at  sundown.  Harley 
wondered  at  the  courage  of  the  pioneers  who  crossed 
the  great  plains  amid  such  a  vast  loneliness.  He 
and  the  candidate  were  tired,  and  soon  ceased  to  talk. 
The  driver  confined  his  attention  to  his  business. 
Harley  fell  into  a  doze,  from  which  he  was  awakened 
after  a  while  by  the  sudden  stoppage  of  the  carriage. 
The  candidate  awoke  at  the  same  time.  The  rain 
had  decreased,  there  was  a  partial  moonlight,  and 
the  driver  was  turning  upon  them  a  shamefaced 
countenance. 

"What's  the  matter?"  asked  the  candidate. 

"To  tell  you  the  truth,  Mr.  Grayson,"  replied  the 
driver,  in  an  apologetic  tone.  "I've  gone  wrong  some 
how  or  other,  and  I  don't  know  just  where  we're  at." 

"Lost?"  said  Harley. 

"If  you  wish  to  put  it  that  way,  I  reckon  you're 
right,"  said  the  driver,  with  a  touch  of  offence. 

"What  has  become  of  the  other  carriages?"  asked 
Harley,  looking  back  for  them. 

"I  reckon  they  didn't  see  us  when  we  turned  out, 
and  they  kept  on  along  the  road." 

There  was  no  doubt  about  the  plight  into  which 
they  had  got  themselves.  The  plain  seemed  no  less 
lonely  than  it  was  before  the  white  man  came. 

9  129 


THE   CANDIDATE 

"What's  that  line  of  trees  across  yonder?"  asked 
the  candidate. 

"I  guess  it  marks  where  the  Platte  runs,"  replied 
the  driver. 

"Then  drive  to  it;  if  we  follow  the  trees  we  must 
reach  the  bridge,  and  then  things  will  be  simple." 

The  driver  became  more  cheerful,  the  rain  ceased 
and  the  moonlight  increased ;  but  Harley  lacked  con 
fidence.  He  had  a  deep  distrust  of  the  Platte  River. 
It  seemed  to  him  the  most  ridiculous  stream  in  the 
United  States,  making  a  presumptuous  claim  upon  the 
map,  and  flowing  often  in  a  channel  a  mile  wide  with 
only  a  foot  of  water.  But  he  feared  the  marshes  and 
quicksands  that  bordered  its  shallow  course. 

They  reached  the  line  of  gaunt  trees,  dripping  with 
water  and  whipped  by  the  wind,  and  Harley's  fears 
were  justified.  The  river  was  there,  but  they  could 
not  approach  it,  lest  they  be  swallowed  up  in  the 
sand,  and  they  turned  back  upon  the  prairie. 

"We  must  find  a  house,"  said  the  candidate;  "if 
it  comes  to  the  pinch  we  can  pass  the  night  in  the 
carriage,  but  I  don't  like  to  sleep  sitting." 

They  bore  away  from  the  river,  driving  at  random, 
and  after  an  hour  saw  a  faint  light  under  the  dusky 
horizon. 

"The  lone  settler!"  exclaimed  Harley,  who  began 
to  cherish  fond  anticipations  of  a  bed.  "Go  straight 
for  it,  driver." 

The  driver  was  not  loath,  and  even  the  horses,  seem 
ing  to  have  renewed  hope,  changed  their  sluggish  walk 
to  a  trot.  They  had  no  hesitation  in  seeking  shelter 
at  that  hour,  entire  strangers  though  they  were,  such 
an  act  being  in  perfect  accordance  with  the  laws  of 
Western  hospitality. 

As  they  approached,  a  bare  wooden  house,  unpro- 
130 


THE   CANDIDATE 

tected  by  trees,  rose  out  of  the  plain.  A  wire  fence 
enclosed  a  half -acre  or  so  about  it,  and  apparently 
there  had  been  a  few  rather  futile  attempts  to  make  a 
lawn. 

"Looks  cheerless,"  said  Harley. 

"But  it  holds  beds,"  said  the  candidate. 

"You  save  your  voice,"  said  Harley;  "I'll  call  the 
farmer,  and  I  hope  it  will  be  a  man  who  can  speak 
English,  and  not.  some  new  Russian  or  Bohemian 
citizen." 

He  sprang  out  of  the  carriage,  glad  to  relieve  him 
self  from  his  cramped  and  stiff  position,  and  walked 
towards  the  little  gate  in  the  wire  fence.  There  was 
a  sudden  rush  of  light  feet,  a  stream  of  fierce  barks 
and  snarls,  and  Harley  sprang  back  in  alarm  as  two 
large  bull-dogs,  red-mouthed,  flung  themselves  against 
the  fence. 

"I  said  you  had  no  cause  to  regret  that  war," 
called  the  candidate  from  the  carriage. 

The  wires  were  strong,  and  they  held  the  dogs ;  but 
the  animals  hung  to  the  fence,  as  fierce  as  wolves; 
and  Harley,  lifting  up  his  voice,  added  to  the  chorus 
with  a  "Hi!  Hi!  Mr.  Farmer!  Strangers  want  to 
stop  with  you!" 

The  din  was  tremendous,  and  presently  a  window 
in  the  second  story  was  shoved  up,  and  a  man,  fully 
dressed,  carrying  a  long-barrelled  rifle  in  his  hands, 
appeared  at  it.  He  called  to  the  dogs,  which  ceased 
at  once  their  barking  and  snarling,  and  then  he  gazed 
down  at  the  intruders  in  no  friendly  manner.  Harley 
saw  him  clearly,  a  tall,  gaunt  old  man,  white-haired, 
but  muscular  and  strong.  He  held  the  rifle  as  if  he 
were  ready  to  use  it — a  most  unusual  thing  in  this 
part  of  the  country,  where  householders  seldom  kept 
fire-arms. 


THE    CANDIDATE 

"What  do  you  want?"  he  called,  in  a  sharp,  high 
voice. 

"Beds!"  cried  Harley.  "We  are  lost,  and  if  you 
don't  take  us  in  we'll  have  to  sleep  on  the  prairie, 
which  is  a  trifle  damp." 

"Waal,  I  'low  it  hez  rained  a  right  smart,"  said  the 
old  man,  grimly. 

Harley  noticed  at  once  the  man's  use  of  "right 
smart,"  an  expression  with  which  he  had  been  familiar 
in  another  part  of  the  country,  and  it  encouraged  him. 
He  was  sure  now  of  hospitality. 

"  Who  are  you  ?"  the  old  man  called. 

"Mr.  Grayson,  the  nominee  for  President  of  the 
United  States,  is  in  the  carriage,  and  I  am  his  friend, 
one  of  the  newspaper  correspondents  travelling  with 
him." 

"Wait  a  minute." 

The  window  was  closed,  and  in  a  few  moments  the 
old  man  came  out  at  the  front  door.  He  carried  the 
rifle  on  his  shoulder,  but  Harley  attributed  the  fact  to 
his  haste  at  the  mention  of  Jimmy  Grayson's  name. 

"My  name  is  Simpson — Daniel  Simpson,"  he  said, 
hospitably.  "Tell  the  driver  to  put  the  horses  in 
the  barn." 

He  waved  his  hand  towards  a  low  building  in  the 
rear  of  his  residence,  and  then  he  invited  the  candi 
date  and  the  correspondent  to  enter.  He  looked 
curiously,  but  with  reverence,  at  the  candidate. 

"You  are  really  Jimmy  Grayson,"  he  said.  "I'd 
know  you  off-hand  by  your  picture,  which  I  guess  hez 
been  printed  in  ev'ry  newspaper  in  the  United  States. 
I  'low  it's  a  powerful  honor  to  me  to  hev  you  here." 

"And  it's  a  tremendous  accommodation  to  us  for 
you  to  take  us,"  said  Jimmy  Grayson,  with  his  usual 
easy  grace. 

132 


THE    CANDIDATE 

But  Harley  was  looking  at  Simpson  with  a  gaze  no 
less  intent  than  the  old  man  had  bent  upon  Gray  son. 
The  accent  and  inflection  of  the  host  were  of  a  region 
far  distant  from  Nebraska,  but  Harley,  who  was  born 
near  that  wild  country,  knew  the  long,  lean,  narrow 
type  of  face,  with  the  high  cheek-bones  and  the 
watchful  black  eyes.  Moreover,  there  was  some 
thing  directly  and  personally  familiar  in  the  figure 
before  him. 

Under  any  circumstances  the  manner  of  the  old 
man  would  have  drawn  the  attention  of  Harley, 
whose  naturally  keen  observation  was  sharpened  by 
the  training  of  his  profession.  The  old  man  seemed 
abstracted.  His  fingers  moved  absently  on  the  stock 
of  his  rifle,  and  Harley  inferred  at  once  that  he  had 
something  of  unusual  weight  on  his  mind. 

"Me  an'  the  ol'  woman  hev  been  settin'  late,"  said 
Simpson.  "When  you  git  ol'  you  don't  sleep  much. 
But  it  '11  be  a  long  time,  Mr.  Grayson,  before  that  fits 
you." 

He  led  the  way  into  a  room  better  furnished  than 
Harley  had  expected  to  see.  A  coal  fire  smouldered 
on  the  hearth,  and  the  arrangement  of  the  room 
showed  some  evidences  of  refinement  and  taste.  An 
old  woman  was  bent  over  the  fire,  but  she  rose  when 
the  men  entered,  and  turned  upon  them  a  face  which 
Harley  knew  at  once  to  be  that  of  one  who  had  been 
frightened  by  something.  Her  eyes  were  red,  as  if 
she  had  been  weeping.  Harley  looked  from  host  to 
hostess  with  curious  glance,  but  he  was  still  silent. 

"This  is  Marthy,  my  wife,  gen'lemen,"  said  Simp 
son.  "  Marthy,  this  is  Mr.  Grayson,  the  greatest  man 
in  this  here  United  States,  and  the  other  is  one  of  the 
newspaper  fellers  that  travels  with  him." 

Jimmy  Grayson  bowed  with  great  courtesy,  and 

133 


THE    CANDIDATE 

apologized  so  gracefully  for  the  intrusion  that  an 
ordinary  person  would  have  been  glad  to  be  intruded 
upon  in  such  a  manner.  The  woman  said  nothing, 
but  stared  vacantly  at  her  guests.  The  old  man 
came  to  her  relief. 

"Marthy  ain't  used  to  visitors,  least  of  all  a  man 
like  you,  Mr.  Grayson,  and  it  kind  o'  upsets  her,"  he 
said.  "You  see,  Marthy  an'  me  lives  here  all  by  our 
selves." 

The  woman  started  and  looked  at  him. 

"All  by  ourselves,"  repeated  the  man,  firmly;  "but 
we'll  do  the  best  we  kin." 

"Daniel,"  suddenly  exclaimed  the  old  woman,  in 
high,  shrill  tones,  "why  don't  you  put  down  your  gun  ? 
Mr.  Grayson  '11  think  you're  a-goin'  to  shoot  him." 

The  old  man  laughed,  but  the  ever-watchful  Harley 
saw  that  the  laugh  was  not  spontaneous. 

"I  'clar'  to  gracious,"  he  said,  "I  clean  forgot  I 
had  old  Deadeye.  You  see,  Mr.  Grayson,  when  I 
heerd  the  dogs  barkin',  sez  I  to  myself  'it's  robbers, 
shore' ;  and  before  I  h'ists  the  window  up-stairs  I 
reaches  old  Deadeye  off  the  hooks,  and  then,  if  it  had 
'a'  been  robbers,  it  wouldn't  'a'  been  healthy  for  'em." 

"I'm  sure  of  that,  Mr.  Simpson,"  said  Jimmy  Gray- 
son;  "you  don't  look  like  a  man  who  would  allow 
himself  to  be  run  over." 

"An'  I  wouldn't,"  said  the  old  man,  with  sudden, 
fierce  emphasis.  But  he  put  the  rifle  gn  the  hooks 
over  the  fireplace.  Such  hooks  as  these  were  not 
usual  in  Nebraska;  but  Jimmy  Grayson  was  too 
polite  to  say  anything,  and  Harley  was  still  watching 
every  movement  of  the  old  man.  The  driver  re 
turned  at  this  moment  from  the  stable,  and,  report 
ing  that  he  had  fed  the  horses,  took  his  place  with  the 
others  at  the  fire. 

134 


THE    CANDIDATE 

"I  'low  you-uns  would  like  to  eat  a  little,"  said 
the  old  man,  laughing  in  the  same  unnatural  way. 
"Marthy,  tote  in  suthin'  from  the  kitchen  as  quick 
as  you  kin." 

The  old  woman  raised  her  startled,  frightened  eyes, 
and  for  a  moment  her  glance  met  Harley's;  it  seemed 
to  him  to  be  full  of  entreaty;  the  whole  atmosphere 
of  the  place  was  to  him  tense,  strained,  and  tragic; 
why,  he  did  not  know,  but  he  shook  himself  and  de 
cided  that  it  was  only  the  result  of  weariness,  the  long 
ride,  and  the  night  in  the  storm.  Nevertheless,  the 
feeling  did  not  depart  because  he  willed  that  it  should 

go- 

"No,  we  thank  you,"  Jimmy  Grayson  was  saying; 

"we  are  not  hungry ;  but  we  should  like  very  much  to 
go  to  bed." 

"It's  jest  with  you,"  said  Simpson.  "Marthy,  I'll 
show  the  gen'lemen  to  their  room,  and  you  kin  stay 
here  till  I  come  back." 

The  old  woman  did  not  speak,  but  stood  in  a 
crouched  attitude  looking  at  Grayson  and  then  at 
Harley  and  then  at  the  driver;  it  seemed  to  the  cor 
respondent  that  she  did  not  dare  trust  her  voice,  and 
he  saw  fear  still  lurking  in  her  eyes. 

"Come  along,  gen'lemen,"  said  Simpson,  taking 
from  the  table  a  small  lamp,  that  had  been  lighted  at 
their  entrance,  and  leading  the  way. 

Harley  glanced  back  once  at  the  door,  and  the 
woman's  eyes  met  his  in  a  look  that  was  like  one 
last  despairing  appeal.  But  there  was  nothing  tan 
gible,  nothing  that  he  could  not  say  was  the  result  of 
an  overwrought  fancy. 

It  was  a  small  and  bare  room,  with  only  a  single 
bed,  to  which  the  old  man  took  them.  "It's  the 
best  I've  got,"  he  said,  apologetically.  "Mr.  Gray- 

135 


THE    CANDIDATE 

son,  you  an'  the  newspaper  man  kin  sleep  in  the  bed, 
an'  t'other  feller,  I  reckon,  kin  curl  up  on  the  floor." 

"  It  is  good  enough  for  anybody,"  said  Jimmy  Gray- 
son,  gallantly.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  both  he  and  Har- 
ley  had  known  what  it  was  to  fare  worse. 

"Good-night,"  the  man  said,  and  left  them  rather 
hastily,  Harley  thought;  but  the  others  took  no  no 
tice,  and  were  soon  in  sound  slumber,  the  candidate 
because  he  had  the  rare  power  of  going  to  sleep  when 
ever  there  was  a  chance,  and  the  driver  because  he 
was  indifferent  and  tired. 

But  Harley  lay  awake.  An  hour  ago  his  dream  of 
heaven  was  a  bed,  and  now,  the  bed  attained,  sleep 
would  not  come  near.  Out  of  the  stil  ness,  after  a 
while,  he  heard  the  gentle  moving  of  feet  below,  and 
he  sat  up  on  the  bed,  all  his  suspicions  confirmed. 
Something  unusual  was  going  on  in  this  lone  house! 
And  it  had  been  going  on  even  before  he  and  the  can 
didate  came! 

He  listened  to  the  moving  feet  for  a  few  moments. 
Then  the  noise  ceased,  but  Harley  knew  that  there 
was  no  further  chance  of  sleep  for  him,  with  his  nerves 
on  edge,  and  likely  to  remain  there.  He  lay  back  on 
the  edge  of  the  bed,  trying  to  accustom  his  eyes  to 
the  darkness,  and  presently  he  heard  a  sound,  the 
most  chilling  that  a  man  can  hear.  It  was  the  sound 
of  a  woman,  alone  and  in  the  dark,  between  midnight 
and  morning,  crying  gently,  but  crying  deeply,  un 
controllably,  and  from  her  chest. 

Harley's  resolve  was  taken  at  once.  He  slipped 
on  his  clothes  and  went  to  the  door.  His  eyes  were 
used  now  to  the  dark,  and  there  was  a  window  that 
shed  a  half-light. 

He  stopped  with  his  hand  on  the  bolt,  because  he 
heard  the  low,  wailing  note  more  plainly,  and  he  was 

136 


THE    CANDIDATE 

sure  that  it  came  from  another  room  across  the  nar 
row  hall.  He  turned  the  bolt,  but  the  door  refused 
to  open.  There  was  no  key  on  the  inside!  They  had 
been  locked  in,  and  for  a  purpose! 

Harley  was  fully  aroused  —  on  edge  with  excite 
ment,  but  able  to  restrain  it  and  to  think  clearly. 
There  was  an  old  grate  in  the  room,  apparently  used 
but  seldom,  and,  leaning  against  the  wall  beside  it,  an 
iron  poker.  Tiptoeing,  he  obtained  the  poker  and 
returned  to  the  door.  The  lock  was  a  flimsy  affair, 
and,  inserting  the  point  of  the  poker  under  the  catch, 
he  easily  pried  it  off  and  put  it  gently  on  the  floor. 

Then  he  stepped  out  into  the  dusky  hall  and  lis 
tened.  The  woman  was  yet  crying,  monotonously, 
but  with  such  a  note  of  woe  that  Harley  was  shaken. 
He  had  thought  in  his  own  room  that  it  was  the  old 
woman  who  wept  thus ;  but  now  in  the  hall  he  knew 
it  to  be  a  younger  and  fresher  voice. 

He  saw  farther  down  another  door,  and  he  knew 
that  it  led  to  the  room  from  which  came  the  sounds 
of  grief.  He  approached  it  cautiously,  still  holding 
the  poker  in  his  hands,  and  noticed  that  there  was 
no  key  in  the  lock.  The  woman,  whoever  she  might 
be,  was  locked  in,  as  he  and  his  comrades  had  been; 
but  the  empty  keyhole  gave  him  an  idea.  He  blew 
through  it,  making  a  sort  of  whistling  sound  with  his 
puckered  lips.  The  crying  ceased,  all  save  an  occa 
sional  low,  half -smothered  sob,  as  if  the  woman  were 
making  a  supreme  effort  to  control  her  feelings. 

Then  Harley  put  his  lips  to  the  keyhole  again  and 
whispered:  "  What  is  the  matter?  It  is  a  friend  who 
asks."  There  was  no  reply,  only  a  tense  silence,  even 
the  occasional  sobs  ceasing.  Then,  after  a  few  mo 
ments  of  waiting,  Harley  whispered,  "Don't  be 
alarmed;  I  am  about  to  force  the  door." 


THE  CANDIDATE 

The  door  was  of  flimsy  pine,  and  it  gave  quickly 
to  the  poker's  leverage.  Then,  this  useful  weapon 
still  in  hand,  Harley  stepped  into  the  room,  where 
he  heard  a  deep-drawn  sigh  that  expressed  mingled 
emotions. 

There  was  a  window  at  the  end  of  the  room,  and 
the  moonlight  shone  clearly  through,  clothing  with 
its  full  radiance  a  tall,  slim  girl,  who  had  risen  from 
a  chair,  and  who  stood  trembling  before  Harley,  fully 
dressed,  although  her  long  hair  hung  down  her  back 
and  her  eyes  were  red  with  weeping. 

She  was  handsome,  but  not  with  the  broad  face  of 
the  West.  Hers  was  another  type,  a  type  that  Har 
ley  knew  well.  The  cheek-bones  were  a  little  high, 
the  features  delicate,  the  figure  slender,  and  there 
was  on  her  cheeks  a  rosy  bloom  that  never  grew  under 
the  cutting  winds  of  the  great  plains. 

Harley  knew  at  once  that  she  was  the  daughter  of 
the  old  couple  below  stairs. 

"Po  not  be  afraid  of  me,"  he  said,  gently.  "I 
know  that  you  are  in  great  trouble,  but  I  will  help 
you.  I,  too,  am  from  Kentucky.  I  was  born  there, 
and  I  used  to  live  there,  though  not  in  the  mountains, 
as  you  did." 

The  appeal  and  terror  in  her  eyes  changed  to 
momentary  surprise.  "What  do  you  know  of  me?" 
she  exclaimed. 

"Very  little  of  you,  but  more  of  your  father.  Years 
ago  I  was  at  his  house  in  the  Kentucky  mountains. 
He  was  a  leader  in  the  Simpson-Eversley  feud.  I 
knew  him  to-night,  but  I  have  said  nothing.  Now, 
tell  me,  what  is  the  matter?" 

His  voice  was  soothing — that  of  a  strong  man  who 
would  protect,  and  the  girl  yielded  to  its  influence. 
Brokenly  she  told  the  story.  Many  men  had  been 

138 


THE   CANDIDATE 

killed  in  the  feud,  and  the  few  Eversleys  who  were 
left  had  been  scattered  far  in  the  mountains.  Then 
old  Daniel  Simpson  said  that  he  would  come  out  on 
the  Great  Plains,  more  than  a  thousand  miles,  and 
they  had  come. 

"There  was  one  of  the  Eversleys — Henry  Eversley 
— he  was  young  and  handsome.  People  said  he  was 
not  bad.  He,  too,  came  to  Nebraska.  He  found 
out  where  we  lived;  he — has  been  here." 

"Ah!"  said  Harley.  He  felt  that  they  were  com 
ing  to  the  gist  of  the  matter. 

The  girl,  with  a  sudden  passionate  cry,  threw  her 
self  upon  her  knees.  "He  is  here  now!  He  is  here 
now!"  she  cried.  "He  is  in  the  cellar,  bound  and 
gagged,  and  my  father  is  going  to  kill  him!  But  I 
love  him!  He  came  here  to-night,  and  my  father 
caught  us  together,  and  struck  him  down.  But  we 
meant  nothing  wrong.  I  declare  before  God  that  we 
did  not!  We  were  getting  ready  to  run  away  to 
gether  and  to  be  married  at  Speedwell!" 

Harley  shuddered.  The  impending  tragedy  was 
more  terrible  than  he  had  feared. 

"You  can  do  nothing!"  exclaimed  the  girl.  "My 
father  is  armed.  He  will  have  no  interference!  He 
cares  nothing  for  what  may  come  after!  He  thinks — " 

She  could  not  say  it  all ;  but  Harley  knew  well  that 
what  she  would  say  was,  "  He  thinks  that  he  has  been 
robbed  of  his  honcr  by  a  mortal  enemy." 

"Can  you  stay  quietly  in  this  room  until  morning  ?" 
he  asked.  "  I  know  it  is  hard  to  wait  under  such  cir 
cumstances,  but  you  must  do  it  for  the  sake  of  Henry 
Eversley." 

"And  will  you  save  him?" 

"He  shall  be  saved." 

"I  will  wait,"  she  said. 

J3Q 


THE    CANDIDATE 

Harley  slipped  noiselessly  out,  and,  closing  the 
door  behind  him,  went  to  his  room,  where  he  at  once 
awakened  the  candidate. 

Jimmy  Grayson  listened  with  intense  attention  to 
Harley's  story.  When  the  tale  was  over,  he  and 
Harley  whispered  together  long  and  earnestly,  and 
Jimmy  Grayson  frequently  nodded  his  head  in  as 
sent.  Then  they  awoke  the  driver,  a  heavy  man, 
but  with  a  keen  Western  mind  that  at  once  became 
alert  at  the  news  of  danger. 

"Yes,  I  got  my  bearings  now,"  he  said,  in  reply  to 
a  question  of  Harley's.  "  I  asked  the  old  fellow  about 
it  when  I  came  up  from  the  stable,  and  Speedwell  is 
straight  north  from  here.  I  can  take  one  of  the 
horses  and  hit  the  town  before  daylight.  I  know 
everybody  there." 

"But  how  about  the  dogs?"  asked  Jimmy  Gray- 
son.  "Can  you  get  past  them?" 

"  No  trouble  there  at  all.  After  we  came,  the  old 
fellow  locked  'em  up  in  a  stall  in  the  stable  and  left 
'em  there.  I  guess  he  didn't  want  to  look  to  us  as 
if  he  was  too  suspicious." 

"Then  go,  and  God  go  with  you!"  said  Jimmy 
Grayson,  with  deep  feeling. 

The  driver  left  at  once,  not  by  the  stairway,  near 
the  foot  of  which  the  old  man  might  be  watching, 
but  by  a  much  simpler  road.  He  raised  the  window 
of  the  room  and  swung  out,  sustained  by  Jimmy 
Gray  son's  powerful  arms  until  his  feet  were  within 
a  yard  of  the  ground.  Then  he  dropped,  ran  lightly 
across  the  lawn,  sprang  over  the  wire  fence,  and 
soon  disappeared  in  the  grove  where  the  girl  had 
said  that  the  horses  were  waiting.  Jimmy  Grayson 
closed  the  window  with  a  deep  sigh  of  relief. 

"He  will  do  his  part,"  he  said;  "now  for  ours." 
140 


THE   CANDIDATE 

He  did  not  seek  to  sleep  again,  and  Harley  could 
not  think  of  it.  One  task  occupied  him  a  little  while — 
the  replacing  of  the  lock  on  the  door — but  after  that 
the  hours  passed  heavily  and  in  silence.  The  flush 
of  dawn  appeared  in  the  east  at  last,  and  then  they 
heard  a  faint  step  in  the  hall  outside  and  the  gentle 
turning  of  a  key  in  a  lock.  Jimmy  Grayson  and 
Harley  looked  at  each  other  and  smiled  grimly,  but 
they  said  nothing.  A  half  -  hour  later  there  was  a 
loud  knock  on  their  door,  and  old  Daniel  Simpson 
bade  them  rise  and  get  ready  for  breakfast. 

"It  is  chiefly  in  your  hands  now,"  said  Harley,  in 
a  low  tone  to  Jimmy  Grayson. 

"  We'll  be  down  in  a  few  minutes,  and  we  have  had 
a  good  night's  sleep,  for  which  we  thank  you,"  he 
called  to  the  old  man. 

"You're  welcome  to  it,"  replied  Simpson.  "You'll 
find  water  and  towels  on  the  porch  down-stairs,  and 
then  you  can  come  straight  in  to  breakfast." 

They  heard  his  step  passing  down  the  hall  to  the 
stairway,  where  it  died  away,  and  then  they  dressed 
deliberately.  On  the  porch  they  found  the  water 
and  towels  as  Simpson  had  said,  and  bathed  and 
rubbed  their  faces.  A  golden  sun  was  just  rising 
from  the  prairie,  and  bead§  of  water  from  the  night's 
rain  sparkled  on  the  trees  and  grass.  The  wind  came 
out  of  the  southwest,  fresh  and  glorious. 

They  entered  the  dining-room,  where  the  breakfast 
smoked  on  the  table,  and  the  old  man  and  his  wife 
were  waiting.  Harley  could  not  see  that  they  had 
changed  in  appearance  in  the  morning  glow.  Simp 
son  was  still  rugged  and  grim,  while  the  woman  yet 
cowered  and  now  and  then  raised  terrified  and  ap 
pealing  eyes. 

"Whar's  your  driver?"  asked  Simpson. 
141 


THE    CANDIDATE 

"He  has  gone  down  to  the  stable  to  feed  and  care 
for  his  horses,"  replied  the  candidate,  easily.  "He's 
a  very  careful  man,  always  looks  after  his  horses  be 
fore  he  looks  after  himself.  He  told  us  not  to  wait 
for  him,  as  he'll  be  along  directly." 

"Then  be  seated,"  said  the  old  man,  hospitably. 
"We've  got  corn-bread  and  ham-and-eggs  and  coffee, 
an*  I  guess  you  kin  make  out." 

"I  should  think  so,"  said  Jimmy  Gray  son.  "  Why, 
if  I  had  not  been  as  hungry  as  a  wolf  already,  it  would 
make  me  hungry  just  to  look  at  it." 

The  three  sat  down  at  the  table,  while  Mrs.  Simp 
son  served  them,  going  back  and  forth  to  the  little 
kitchen  adjoining  for  fresh  supplies  of  hot  food.  Mr. 
Grayson  did  most  of  the  talking,  and  it  was  ad 
dressed  in  an  easy,  confidential  manner  to  old  Daniel 
Simpson.  The  candidate's  gift  of  conversational 
talk  was  equal  to  his  gift  of  platform  oratory,  but 
never  before  had  Harley  known  him  to  be  so  inter 
esting  and  so  attractive.  He  fairly  radiated  with 
the  quality  called  personal  magnetism,  and  soon  the 
old  man  ate  mechanically,  while  his  attention  was 
riveted  on  Jimmy  Grayson.  But  by  -  and  -  by  he 
seemed  to  remember  something. 

"That  driver  of  yourn  is  tarnal  slow,"  he  said;  "he 
ought  to  be  comin'  in  to  breakfast." 

"You  have  diagnosed  his  chief  fault,"  said  Jimmy 
Grayson,  with  an  easy  laugh.  "  He  is  slow,  extreme 
ly  slow,  but  he  will  be  along  directly,  and  he  doesn't 
mind  cold  victuals." 

Then  he  turned  back  to  the  easy  flow  of  anecdote, 
chiefly  about  his  political  campaign,  and  Harley  saw 
that  the  interest  of  the  old  man  was  centred  upon 
him.  The  woman,  without  a  word,  brought  in  hot 
biscuits  from  the  kitchen,  but  she  did  not  lose  her 

142 


THE    CANDIDATE 

frightened  look,  glancing  from  one  to  another  of  the 
three  with  furtive,  lowered  eyes.  But  Jimmy  Gray- 
son,  the  golden-mouthed,  talked  gracefully,  and  the 
note  of  his  discourse  that  morning  was  the  sweetness 
and  kindness  of  life;  he  saw  only  the  sunny  side  of 
things;  people  were  good  and  true,  and  peace  was 
better  than  strife.  His  smiling,  benevolent  face  and 
the  mellow  flow  of  his  words  enforced  the  lesson. 

The  old  man's  face  softened  a  little,  and  even  Har- 
ley,  though  a  prey  to  anxieties,  felt  the  influence  of 
Jimmy  Grayson's  spell.  The  little  dining  -  room 
where  they  sat  was  at  the  rear  of  the  house.  Harley 
saw  the  golden  sunshine  of  a  perfect  October  day, 
and  the  wind  that  sang  across  the  plain  had  the  soft 
strain  of  a  girl's  voice.  He  felt  that  it  was  good  to 
live  that  morning,  and  his  spirits  rose  as  he  saw  the 
old  man  fall  further  and  further  under  the  spell  of 
Jimmy  Grayson's  eloquence. 

But  Simpson  raised  himself  presently  and  glanced 
at  the  door. 

"That  driver  of  yourn  is  tarnal  slow,"  he  repeated. 
"Seems  to  me  he'll  never  finish  feedin'  an'  curryin' 
them  horses!" 

"He  is  slow,  extremely  slow,"  laughed  Jimmy 
Grayson.  "  If  he  were  not  so  we  should  not  have  got 
lost  last  night,  and  we  should  not  be  here  now,  Mr. 
Simpson,  trespassing  on  your  hospitality.  Perhaps 
the  man  does  not  want  any  breakfast;  it's  not  the 
first  time  since  he's  been  with  us  that  he's  gone  with 
out  it." 

Then  he  launched  again  into  the  stream  of  a  very 
pretty  story  that  he  had  been  telling,  and  the  waver 
ing  attention  of  the  old  man  returned.  Harley  gave 
all  assistance.  Despite  his  anxiety  and  his  listen 
ing  for  sounds  without,  he  kept  his  eyes  fixed  upon 

143 


THE    CANDIDATE 

Jimmy  Grayson's  face  as  if  he  would  not  miss  a 
word. 

The  breakfast  went  on  to  an  unusual  length.  The 
candidate  and  Harley  called  again  and  again  for  hot 
biscuits  and  more  coffee,  and  always  the  old  woman 
served  them  silently,  almost  furtively. 

The  story  was  finished,  and  just  as  it  came  to  its 
end  Simpson  said,  with  a  grim  inflection: 

"It  'pears  to  me,  Mr.  Grayson,  all  you  said  about 
that  driver  of  yourn  is  true.  He  hasn't  come  from 
the  stable  yet." 

There  was  the  sound  of  a  step  in  the  hall,  and  the 
candidate  said,  quickly: 

"He's  coming  now;  he'll  be  in  presently,  as  soon 
as  he  washes  his  hands  and  face  on  the  porch.  No, 
sit  down,  Mr.  Simpson;  he  needs  no  directions.  We 
were  speaking  of  the  sacrifices  that  people  make  for 
one  another,  and  it  reminds  me  of  a  very  pretty  story 
that  I  must  tell  you." 

The  old  man  sank  into  his  chair,  but  his  look  wan 
dered  to  the  door.  It  seemed  to  Harley  that  light 
sounds  came  from  the  other  part  of  the  house,  and 
the  old  man,  too,  seemed  for  a  moment  to  be  listen 
ing,  but  Jimmy  Grayson  at  once  began  his  story, 
and  Simpson's  attention  came  back. 

"This  is  a  story  of  the  mountains  of  eastern  Ken 
tucky,"  began  the  candidate,  "and  it  is  a  love  story 
— a  very  pretty  one,  I  think." 

Simpson  moved  in  his  chair,  and  a  sudden  wonder 
ing  look  appeared  in  his  eyes  at  the  words  "eastern 
Kentucky."  The  old  woman,  too,  slightly  raised  her 
bent  form  and  gazed  eagerly  at  the  candidate.  But 
Jimmy  Grayson  took  no  notice,  and  continued. 

"This,"  he  said,  "is  the  love  story  of  two  people 
who  were  young  then,  but  who  are  old  now.  Yet  I 

144 


THE    CANDIDATE 

am  sure  there  is  much  affection  and  tenderness  in 
their  hearts,  and  often  they  must  think  fondly  of 
those  old  days.  The  youth  lived  on  the  side  of  a 
mountain,  and  the  girl  lived  on  the  side  of  another 
mountain  not  far  away.  He  was  tall,  strong,  and 
brave;  she,  too,  was  tall,  as  slender  as  one  of  the 
mountain  saplings,  with  glorious  brown  hair  and 
eyes,  and  a  voice  as  musical  as  a  mountain  echo. 
Well,  they  met  and  they  loved,  loved  truly  and  deep 
ly.  It  might  seem  that  the  way  was  easy  now  for 
them  to  marry  and  go  to  a  house  of  their  own,  but  it 
was  not.  There  was  a  bar." 

"A  feud!"  breathed  the  old  man.  The  old  woman 
put  her  hands  to  her  eyes. 

"Yes,  a  feud;  they  seem  strange  things  to  us  here, 
but  to  those  distant  people  in  the  mountains  they 
seem  the  most  natural  thing  in  the  world.  The  youth 
and  the  girl  belonged  to  families  that  were  at  war  with 
each  other,  and  marriage  between  them  would  have 
been  considered  by  all  their  relatives  a  mortal  sin." 

The  old  man's  eyes  were  fastened  upon  Jimmy 
Grayson's,  but  his  look  for  the  moment  was  distant, 
as  if  it  were  held  by  old  memories.  The  woman  was 
crying  softly.  Again  the  soft  shuffle  of  feet  in  the 
other  part  of  the  house  came  to  Harley's  ears,  but 
the  old  couple  did  not  hear ;  the  driver  was  forgotten ; 
for  all  Simpson  and  his  wife  remembered,  he  might 
still  be  finishing  his  morning  toilet  on  the  porch. 

"They  were  compelled  to  meet  in  secret,"  con 
tinued  Jimmy  Grayson,  "but  the  girl  was  frightened 
for  him  because  she  loved  him.  She  told  him  that 
he  must  go  away,  that  if  her  father  and  brothers 
heard  of  their  meetings  they  would  kill  him;  it  was 
impossible  for  them  to  marry,  but  she  loved  him,  she 
would  never  deny  that.  He  listened  to  her  gently 

10  145 


and  tenderly;  he  was  a  brave  youth,  as  I  have  said, 
and  he  would  not  go  away.  He  said  that  God  had 
made  them  for  each  other,  and  she  should  be  his  wife ; 
he  would  not  go  away;  he  was  not  afraid." 

"  No,  I  was  not  afraid,"  breathed  the  old  man,  soft 
ly.  The  old  woman  had  straightened  herself  up  un 
til  she  stood  erect.  There  was  a  delicate  flush  on 
her  face,  and  her  eyes  were  luminous. 

"This  youth  was  a  hero,  a  gallant  and  chivalrous 
gentleman,"  continued  Jimmy  Gray  son;  "he  loved 
the  girl,  and  she  loved  him;  there  was  no  real  reason 
in  the  world  why  they  should  not  marry,  and  he  was 
resolved  that  there  should  be  none." 

The  candidate's  head  was  bent  forward  over  his 
plate.  His  face  was  slightly  flushed,  and  his  burn 
ing  eyes  held  Simpson's.  Harley  saw  that  he  thrilled 
with  his  own  story  and  the  crisis  for  which  it  was 
told.  Elsewhere  in  the  building  the  faint  noises 
went  on,  but  Harley  alone  heard. 

"The  youth  did  what  I  would  have  done  and  what 
you  would  have  done,  Mr.  Simpson,"  continued  Jim 
my  Grayson.  "He  did  what  nature  and  sense  dic 
tated.  He  overbore  all  resistance  on  the  part  of  the 
girl,  who  in  her  heart  was  willing  to  be  overborne. 
One  dark  night  he  stole  her  from  her  father's  house 
and  carried  her  away  on  his  horse." 

"  How  well  I  remember  it!"  exclaimed  the  old  man, 
with  eyes  a-gleam.  "  I  had  Marthy  on  the  horse  be 
hind  me,  and  my  rifle  on  the  pommel  of  the  saddle 
before  me." 

The  old  woman  cried  softly,  but  it  seemed  to  Har 
ley  that  the  note  of  her  weeping  was  not  grief. 

"He  stole  her  away,"  continued  Jimmy  Grayson, 
"and  before  morning  they  were  married.  Then  he 
took  her  to  a  house  of  his  own,  and  he  sent  word  that 

146 


THE    CANDIDATE 

if  any  man  came  to  do  them  harm  he  would  meet  a 
rifle  bullet.  They  knew  that  he  was  the  best  shot  in 
the  mountains,  and  that  he  was  without  fear,  so  they 
did  not  come.  And  that  youth  and  that  girl  are  still 
living,  though  both  are  old  now,  but  neither  has  ever 
for  a  moment  regretted  that  night." 

"You  speak  the  truth,"  exclaimed  the  old  man, 
striking  his  fist  upon  the  table,  while  his  eyes  flashed 
with  exultant  fire.  "We've  never  been  sorry  for  a 
moment  for  what  we  did,  hev  we  Marthy  ?" 

Harley  had  risen  to  his  feet,  and  a  signal  look  passed 
between  him  and  the  candidate. 

"And  then,"  said  Jimmy  Grayson.  "why  do  you 
deny  to  Henry  Eversley  the  right  to  do  what  you 
did,  and  what  you  still  glory  in  after  all  these  years? 
Mr.  Simpson,  shake  hands  with  your  new  son-in-law. 
He  and  his  bride  are  waiting  in  the  doorway." 

The  old  man  sprang  to  his  feet.  His  daughter  and 
a  youth,  a  handsome  couple,  stood  at  the  entrance. 
Behind  them  were  three  or  four  men,  one  the  driver, 
and  another  in  clerical  garb,  evidently  a  minister. 

"They  were  married  in  your  front  parlor  while 
we  sat  at  breakfast,"  said  Jimmy  Grayson.  "Mr. 
Simpson,  your  son-in-law  is  still  offering  you  his 
hand." 

The  bewildered  look  left  the  old  man's  eyes,  and 
he  took  the  outstretched  hand  in  a  hearty  grasp. 

"Henry,"  he  said,  "you've  won." 


THB  "KING'S"  REQUEST 

Atf  hour  later  the  candidate,  Harley,  and  the 
driver  were  on  the  way  to  the  town  at  which 
they  had  intended  to  pass  the  preceding  night. 
With  ample  instructions  and  a  brilliant  morning  sun 
light  there  was  no  further  trouble  about  the  direction, 
and  they  pursued  their  way  in  peace. 

The  air  was  crisp  and  blowy,  and  the  earth,  new- 
washed  by  the  rain,  took  on  some  of  the  tints  of 
spring  green,  despite  the  lateness  of  the  season.  Har 
ley,  relaxed  from  the  tension  of  the  night  before, 
leaned  back  in  his  seat  and  enjoyed  the  tonic  breeze. 
No  one  of  the  three  had  much  to  say;  all  were  in 
meditation,  and  the  quiet  and  loneliness  of  the  morn 
ing  seemed  to  promote  musing.  They  drove  some 
miles  across  the  rolling  prairie  without  seeing  a  single 
house,  but  at  last  the  driver  pointed  to  a  flickering 
patch  of  gold  on  the  western  horizon. 

"That,"  said  he,  "is  the  weather-vane  on  the 
cupola  of  the  new  court-house,  and  in  another  hour 
we'll  be  in  town.  I  guess  your  people  will  be  glad 
to  see  you,  Mr.  Grayson." 

"And  I  shall  be  glad  to  see  them,"  said  the  can 
didate.  A  few  minutes  later  he  turned  to  the  cor 
respondent. 

"Harley,"  he  asked,  "will  you  send  anything  to 
your  paper  about  last  night?" 

148 


THE    CANDIDATE 

"I  have  to  do  so,"  replied  Harley,  with  a  slight 
note  of  apology  in  his  tone — this  had  not  been  his 
personal  doing.  "For  a  presidential  candidate  to 
get  lost  on  the  prairie  in  the  dark  and  the  storm, 
and  then  spend  the  night  in  a  house  in  which  only  his 
presence  of  mind  and  eloquence  prevent  a  murder, 
that  is  news — news  of  the  first  importance  and  the 
deepest  interest.  I  am  bound  not  only  to  send  a 
despatch  about  it,  but  the  despatch  must  be  very 
long  and  full.  And  I  suppose,  too,  that  I  shall  have 
to  tell  it  to  the  other  fellows  when  we  reach  the 
town." 

The  candidate  sighed. 

"I  know  you  are  right,"  he  said,  "but  I  wish  you 
did  not  have  to  do  it.  The  story  puts  me  in  a  sensa 
tional  light.  It  seems  as  if  I  were  turning  aside 
from  the  great  issues  of  a  campaign  for  personal  ad 
venture." 

"It  was  forced  upon  you." 

"So  it  was,  but  that  fact  does  not  take  from  it  the 
sensational  look." 

Harley  was  silent.  He  knew  that  Mr.  Grayson's 
point  was  well  made,  but  he  knew  also  that  he  must 
send  the  despatch. 

The  candidate  made  no  further  reference  to  the 
subject,  and  five  minutes  later  they  saw  horsemen 
rise  out  of  the  plain  and  gallop  towards  them.  As 
Harley  had  said,  a  presidential  nominee  was  not  lost 
in  the  dark  and  the  storm  every  night,  and  this  little 
Western  town  was  mightily  perturbed  when  Mr. 
Gray  son  failed  to  arrive.  The  others  had  come  in 
safely,  but  already  all  the  morning  newspapers  of 
the  country  had  published  the  fact  that  the  candi 
date  was  lost,  swallowed  up  somewhere  on  the  dark 
prairie.  And  Mr.  Grayson's  instinct  was  correct,  too, 

149 


THE    CANDIDATE 

because  mingled  with  the  wonder  and  speculation 
was  much  criticism.  It  was  boldly  said  in  certain 
supercilious  circles  that  he  had  probably  turned  aside 
on  an  impulse  to  look  after  some  minor  matter,  per 
haps  something  that  was  purely  personal  that  had 
nothing  to  do  with  the  campaign.  Churchill,  late  the 
night  before,  had  sent  to  the  Monitor  a  despatch 
written  in  his  most  censorious  manner,  in  that  vein 
of  reluctant  condemnation  that  so  well  suited  his 
sense  of  superiority.  He  was  loath  to  admit  that 
the  candidate  was  proving  inadequate  to  his  high 
position,  but  the  circumstances  indicated  it,  and  the 
proof  was  becoming  cumulative.  He  also  sent  a  tele 
gram  to  the  Honorable  Mr.  Goodnight,  in  New  York, 
and  the  burden  of  it  was  the  need  of  a  restraining 
force,  a  force  near  at  hand,  and  able  to  meet  every 
evil  with  instant  cure. 

But  the  Western  horsemen  who  met  Jimmy  Gray- 
son — they  clung  to  their  affectionate  "Jimmy" — 
were  swayed  by  no  such  emotions.  They  repeated  a 
shout  of  welcome,  and  wanted  to  know  how  and 
where  he  had  passed  the  night,  to  all  of  which  ques 
tions  the  candidate,  with  easy  humor,  returned  ready 
and  truthful  replies,  although  he  did  not  say  any 
thing  for  the  present  about  the  adventure  of  the  old 
man  and  of  the  young  one  who  was  now  the  old  one's 
son-in-law. 

The  driver  took  them  straight  towards  a  large  and 
attractive  hotel,  and  it  seemed  to  Harley  that  half 
the  population  of  the  town  was  out  to  see  the  trium 
phant  entry  of  the  candidate.  With  all  the  attention 
of  the  crowd  centred  upon  one  man,  Harley  was 
able  to  slip  quietly  through  the  dense  ranks  and  enter 
the  hotel,  where  he  fell  at  once  into  the  hands  of 
Sylvia  Morgan.  She  came  forward  to  meet  him, 

150 


impulsively  holding  out  her  hands,  the  light  of  wel 
come  sparkling  in  her  eyes.  ' 

"We  did  not  know  what  had  become  of  you,"  she 
exclaimed.  "  We  feared  that  you  had  got  lost  in  the 
quicksands  of  the  river."  And  then,  with  a  sudden 
flush,  she  added,  somewhat  lamely,  "We  are  all  so 
glad  that  Uncle  James  has  got  back  safely." 

Harley  had  read  undeniable  relief  and  welcome  in 
her  eyes,  and  it  gave  him  a  peculiar  thrill,  a  thrill  at 
first  of  absolute  and  unthinking  joy,  followed  at 
once  by  a  little  catch.  Before  him  rose  the  square 
and  massive  vision  of  "King"  Plummer,  and  he  had 
an  undefined  sense  of  doing  wrong. 

"We've  brought  him  back  safely,"  he  said,  after 
slight  hesitation.  "We  spent  the  night  very  com 
fortably  in  a  farm-house  on  the  prairie." 

She  noticed  his  hesitation,  and  her  eyes  became 
eager. 

"I  do  believe  that  you  have  had  an  adventure," 
she  exclaimed.  "I  know  that  you  have;  I  know  by 
your  look.  You  must  tell  it  to  me  at  once." 

"We  have  had  an  adventure,"  admitted  Harley, 
"and  there  is  no  reason  why  I  shouldn't  tell  you  of 
it,  as  in  a  few  hours  a  long  account  of  it  written  by 
me  will  be  going  eastward." 

"I  am  waiting." 

Harley  began  at  once  with  his  narrative,  and  they 
became  absorbed  in  it,  he  in  the  telling  and  she  in 
the  hearing.  While  he  talked  and  she  listened 
"King"  Plummer  approached.  Now  the  "King" 
in  these  later  few  days  had  begun  to  study  the  ways 
of  women,  in  so  far  as  his  limited  experience  enabled 
him  to  do  so,  a  task  to  which  he  had  never  turned 
his  attention  before  in  his  life.  But  the  words  of 
Mrs.  Gray  son  rankled;  they  kept  him  unhappy,  they 


THE    CANDIDATE 

disturbed  his  self-satisfaction,  and  made  him  appre 
hensive  for  the  future.  He  had  been  in  the  crowd 
that  welcomed  Jimmy  Gray  son,  he  had  shaken  the 
candidate's  hand  effusively,  and  now,  when  he  en 
tered  the  hotel,  he  found  Sylvia  Morgan  welcoming 
John  Harley. 

"  King"  Plummer  did  not  like  what  he  saw;  it  gave 
him  his  second  shock,  and  he  paused  to  examine  the 
two  with  a  yellow  eye,  and  a  mind  reluctant  to  ad 
mit  certain  facts,  among  them  the  most  obvious  one, 
that  they  were  a  handsome  couple,  and  of  an  age. 
And  this  was  a  fact  that  did  not  give  the  "King" 
pleasure.  He  did  not  dislike  Harley;  instead,  he  ap 
preciated  his  good  qualities,  but  just  then  he  re 
garded  him  with  an  unfriendly  glance;  that  reality 
of  youth  annoyed  him.  There  was  a  glass  on  the 
other  side  of  the  room,  and  the  "King"  looked  at 
his  own  reflection.  He  saw  a  large,  powerful  head 
and  broad,  strong  features,  the  whole  expressing  a 
man  at  the  height  of  his  powers,  at  the  very  flood- 
tide  of  his  strength.  But  it  was  not  young.  The 
hair  was  iron-gray,  and  there  were  many  deep  lines 
in  the  face — not  unhandsome  lines,  yet  they  were 
lines. 

"With  all  his  shameless  youth,"  were  the  "King's" 
unuttered  thoughts,  "I  could  beat  him  at  anything, 
except,  perhaps,  scribbling.  I  could  live  and  prosper 
where  he  would  starve  to  death.''  And  surging  upon 
the  "King"  came  the  memories  of  his  long,  trium 
phant,  and  joyous  struggle  with  wild  nature.  Then  he 
approached  the  couple,  and  greeted  Harley  with  the 
good-nature  that  was  really  a  part  of  him.  Sylvia,  with 
shining  eyes,  told  at  second  hand,  though  not  with 
diminished  effect,  the  story  of  the  night,  and  "King" 
Plummer  was  loud  in  his  applause.  He  did  not  care 

15* 


THE    CANDIDATE 

what  criticism  the  supercilious  might  make,  the  act 
was  to  him  spontaneous  and  natural. 

"But  I  don't  see  why  you  should  have  been  with 
Jimmy  Grayson  then,"  he  said,  frankly,  to  Harley. 
"You  are  an  Easterner,  new  to  these  parts,  and  it 
isn't  right  that  just  you  should  be  along  when  the 
interestin'  things  happen." 

Harley  could  not  help  laughing  at  the  naive  re 
mark,  but  he  liked  "King"  Plummer  all  the  better 
for  it.  The  "King,"  however,  gave  him  no  more 
chance  to  talk  alone  that  day  with  Sylvia.  Mr. 
Plummer  showed  the  greatest  regard  for  Miss  Mor 
gan's  health  and  comfort,  and  did  not  try  to  hide 
his  solicitude;  he  was  continually  about  her,  arrang 
ing  little  conveniences  for  the  journey,  and  intro 
ducing  Idaho  topics,  familiar  to  them,  but  to  which 
Harley  was  necessarily  a  stranger.  The  "King," 
with  his  wide  sense  of  Western  hospitality,  would 
not  have  done  this  at  another  time,  but  in  view  of 
the  close  relationship  between  himself  and  Sylvia  he 
regarded  it  as  pardonable. 

The  watchful  Mrs.  Grayson  saw  it  all,  and  at  first 
she  regarded  the  "King"  with  an  approving  eye, 
but  by  -  and  -  by  the  approval  changed  to  a  frown. 
There  was  something  forced  in  his  manner;  it  was 
just  the  least  bit  unconvincing.  It  was  clear  to  her 
that  he  was  overdoing  it,  and  in  her  opinion  that 
was  as  bad  as  not  doing  it  at  all.  Nor  did  she  like 
the  spectacle  of  a  middle-aged  man  of  affairs  trying 
to  play  the  gallant;  there  was  another  manner,  one 
just  as  good,  that  would  become  him  more.  She 
was  impelled  to  admonish  him  again,  but  she  re 
strained  herself,  reflecting  that  she  had  not  im 
proved  matters  by  her  first  warning,  and  she  might 
make  them  worse  by  her  second.  Nevertheless,  she 


THE    CANDIDATE 

summoned  the  nominee  of  a  great  party  to  the 
American  Presidency  to  a  conference,  and  he  came 
with  more  alacrity  than  he  would  have  obeyed  the 
call  of  a  conference  of  governors. 

"Sylvia  is  doing  what  it  is  natural  for  her  to  do," 
she  said,  abruptly. 

"Then,  my  dear,  why  find  fault  with  me  because 
of  it?"  replied  the  mystified  candidate. 

"I  don't  find  fault  with  you;  I  merely  want  your 
advice,  although  I  know  that  you  can  have  none  to 
give." 

The  candidate  wisely  kept  silent,  and  waited  for 
the  speaker  of  the  house  to  proceed. 

"Sylvia  is  your  niece,  and  Mr.  Plummer  is  your 
most  powerful  political  supporter  in  the  West,"  she 
said.  "If  she  jilts  him  because  of  any  fancy  or  im 
pulse — well,  you  know  such  things  can  make  men, 
especially  elderly  men,  do  very  strange  deeds.  I 
speak  of  it  because  I  am  sure  it  must  have  been  in 
your  thoughts." 

The  candidate  stirred  uneasily. 

"It  is  a  thing  that  I  do  not  like  to  take  into  con 
sideration,"  he  said. 

"Nor  do  I,  but  it  forces  itself  upon  us." 

"It  is  right  that  Harley  should  pay  her  attention. 
They  are  members  of  this  party,  and  they  are  of  an 
age  likely  to  make  them  congenial." 

"  That  is  where  the  danger  lies.  It  may  not  amount 
at  present  to  anything  more  than  a  fancy,  but  a 
fancy  can  make  a  very  good  beginning." 

They  talked  on  at  length  and  with  much  earnest 
ness,  but  they  could  come  to  no  other  conclusion 
than  to  use  that  last  refuge,  silence  and  waiting. 

Meanwhile  Sylvia  was  enjoying  herself.  She  was 
young  and  vigorous,  and  she  had  a  keen  zest  in  life. 


THE    CANDIDATE 

She  was  surrounded  by  men,  some  young,  too,  who 
had  seen  much  of  the  world,  and  they  interested  her; 
neither  would  she  have  been  human,  nor  of  her  sex, 
if  their  attentions  had  not  pleased  her;  and  there, 
too,  was  the  great  campaign  throwing  its  glow  over 
everything.  She  was  gracious  even  to  the  "King," 
whom  she  had  been  treating  rather  worse  than  he 
deserved  for  several  days.  She  seemed  to  appre 
ciate  his  increased  gallantry,  and  it  was  "dear  old 
daddy"  very  often  now,  whether  in  the  comparative 
privacy  of  the  Grayson  family  circle  or  in  the  larger 
group  of  the  young  correspondents  and  politicians. 
The  "King"  was  delighted  with  the  change,  and  his 
own  manner  became  easy  and  happy.  He  looked 
once  or  twice  at  the  lady  whom  he  considered  his 
mentor,  Mrs.  Grayson,  and  expected  to  see  approval 
and  satisfaction  on  her  face,  too,  but  she  was  stern 
and  impenetrable,  and  the  "King"  said  to  himself 
that  after  all  she  was  not  so  startlingly  acute. 

Sylvia  was  telling  some  anecdote  of  the  West  to 
her  new  friends,  and,  as  the  incident  was  rather  re 
markable,  she  thought  it  necessary  to  have  confirma 
tion. 

"  It  happened  before  I  was  born,  but  you  were  there 
then,  and  you  know  all  about  it,  don't  you,  daddy?" 

"King"  Plummer  quickly  nodded  confirmation 
and  smiled  at  the  memory.  The  event  had  inter 
ested  him  greatly,  and  he  was  glad  to  vouch  for  its 
truth.  He  was  pleased  all  the  more  when  he  saw 
the  others  looking  at  him  with  the  respect  and  defer 
ence  due  to — his  thoughts  halted  suddenly  in  their 
course  and  turned  into  another  channel.  Then  he 
found  himself  frowning.  He  did  not  like  the  con 
junction  of  "dear  old  daddy  "  and  of  a  thing  that 
had  happened  many  years  ago. 


THE   CANDIDATE 

The  "King"  quietly  slipped  away  from  the  party, 
and  he  noticed  with  intense  gloom  that  his  depart 
ure  did  not  seem  to  make  as  much  difference  as  it 
should.  For  a  whole  afternoon  he  was  silent,  and 
many  corrugations  formed  temporarily  in  his  brow, 
indicating  resolved  thought.  Nor  were  appearances 
wrong,  because  the  "King"  was  laboriously  drag 
ging  himself  up  to  the  edge  of  a  mighty  resolution. 
He  was  physically  as  brave  a  man  as  ever  walked; 
in  early  and  rougher  days  he  had  borne  a  ready  Win 
chester,  but  this  emergency  was  something  new  in 
his  experience,  and  naturally  he  hesitated  at  the 
venture.  However,  just  after  supper,  when  Sylvia 
was  alone  in  the  drawing-room  of  the  car,  he  ap 
proached  her.  She  looked  up  at  him  and  smiled, 
but  the  "King's"  face  was  set  with  the  power  of  his 
resolve. 

"Come  in,  daddy,"  she  said. 

The  "King"  did  not  smile,  nor  did  he  sit  down. 

"Sylvia,"  he  said,  "I  have  a  favor  to  ask  of  you." 

"Why  certainly,  daddy,  anything  in  reason,  and 
I  know  you  would  not  ask  anything  out  of  it." 

"Sylvia,  I  want  you  to  promise  me  never  to  call 
me  daddy  again,  either  in  private,  as  here  between 
ourselves,  or  before  others." 

She  looked  up  at  him,  her  eyes  wide  with  astonish 
ment. 

"Why,"  she  exclaimed,  "I've  called  you  that  ever 
since  you  found  me  a  little,  little  girl  alone  in  the 
mountains." 

"I  know  it,  but  it's  time  to  stop.  I'm  no  blood 
kin  to  you  at  all.  And  I'm  not  so  ancient.  The  his 
tory  of  the  West  didn't  begin  with  me." 

The  wonder  in  her  eyes  deepened,  and  the  "King" 
felt  apprehensive,  though  he  stood  to  his  guns.  But 

156 


THE    CANDIDATE 

when  she  laughed,  a  joyous,  spontaneous  laugh,  he 
felt  hurt. 

"I'll  make  you  the  promise  readily  enough,"  she 
said,  "but  I  can't  keep  it;  I  really  can't.  I'll  try 
awful  hard,  but  I'm  so  used  to  daddy  that  it  will 
be  sure  to  pop  out  just  when  I'm  expecting  it  least." 

The  "King"  looked  at  her  moodily,  not  sure 
whether  she  was  laughing  at  him  or  at  her  own  per 
plexity. 

"Then  you  just  try,"  he  said,  at  last,  yielding  to  a 
mood  of  compromise,  and  stalked  abruptly  out  of 
the  drawing-room. 

Sylvia,  watching  him,  saw  how  stiffly  and  squarely 
he  held  his  shoulders,  and  what  long  and  abrupt 
strides  he  took,  and  her  mood  of  merriment  was  sud 
denly  succeeded  by  one  of  sadness  mingled  just  a  lit 
tle  with  apprehension.  She  spoke  twice  under  her 
breath,  and  the  two  brief  sentences  varied  by  only  a 
single  word.  The  first  was  "Dear  old  daddy!"  and 
the  second  was  "Poor  old  daddy  1" 


XI 

THE    HARRYING    OF    HERBERT 

A^  unexpected  addition  and  honor  was  now  ap 
proaching,  and  it  was  Hobart  who  told  them 
of  it. 

"Our  little  party  is  about  to  receive  a  touch  of 
real  distinction  and  dignity — something  that  it  needs 
very  much,"  he  said,  laying  the  newspaper  that  he 
had  been  reading  upon  the  dusty  car  seat  and  glanc 
ing  at  Harley.  They  had  returned  to  their  special 
train. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  asked  Harley,  though  his 
tone  betrayed  no  great  interest. 

"I  quote  from  the  columns  of  our  staid  contem 
porary,  the  New  York  Monitor,  Churchill's  sheet, 
the  representative  of  solid,  quiet,  and  cultured  worth," 
said  Hobart,  pompously.  " '  It  has  been  felt  for  some 
time  by  thoughtful  leaders  of  our  party  in  the  East 
that  Jimmy  Gray  son  and  the  "  shirt-sleeves"  Western 
politicians  who  now  surround  him  are  showing  too 
much  familiarity  with  the  people.  A  certain  re 
serve,  a  certain  dignity  of  manner  which,  while  hold 
ing  the  crowd  at  a  distance  also  inspires  it  with  a 
proper  respect,  is  desirable  on  the  part  of  the  official 
head  of  a  great  party,  a  presidential  nominee.  The 
personal  democracy  of  Mr.  Grayson  is  having  a  dis 
concerting  effect  upon  important  financial  circles, 
and  also  is  inspiring  unfavorable  comments  in  the 


THE   CANDIDATE 

English  press,  extracts  from  which  we  print  upon 
another  page.' ' 

"What  on  earth  has  the  opinion  of  the  English 
press  to  do  with  our  presidential  race?"  asked  Har- 
ley. 

"You  may  search  me,"  replied  Hobart.  "I  mere 
ly  quote  from  the  columns  of  the  Monitor.  But  in 
order  to  save  time,  I  tell  you  that  all  this  preamble 
leads  to  the  departure  for  the  West  of  the  Honorable 
Herbert  Henry  Heath  cote,  who,  after  his  graduation 
at  Harvard,  took  a  course  at  Oxford,  lived  much 
abroad,  and  who  now,  by  grace  of  his  father's  worth 
and  millions,  is  the  national  committeeman  from  his 
state.  For  some  days  Herbert  has  been  speeding  in 
our  direction,  and  to-morrow  he  will  join  us  at  Red 
Cloud.  It  is  more  than  intimated  that  he  will  take 
charge  of  the  tour  of  Jimmy  Grayson,  and  put  it 
upon  the  proper  plane  of  dignity  and  reserve." 

Harley  said  no  more,  but,  borrowing  the  paper, 
read  the  account  carefully,  and  then  put  it  down 
with  a  sigh,  foreseeing  trouble.  Herbert  Heathcote's 
father  had  been  a  great  man  in  his  time,  self -created, 
a  famous  merchant,  an  able  party  worker,  in  thor 
ough  touch  with  American  life,  and  he  had  served 
for  many  years  as  the  honored  chairman  of  the 
national  committee,  although  in  a  moment  of  weak 
ness  he  had  sent  his  son  abroad  to  be  educated. 
Now  he  was  dead,  but  remembered  well,  and  as  a 
presidential  campaign  costs  much  money — legitimate 
money — and  his  son  was  a  prodigal  giver,  the  leaders 
could  not  refuse  to  the  younger  Heathcote  the  place 
of  national  committeeman  from  his  state. 

"What  do  you  think  of  it?"  asked  Harley,  at  last. 

"I  refuse  to  think,"  replied  Hobart.  "I  shall 
merely  wait  and  see." 


THE    CANDIDATE 

But  the  Honorable  William  Plummer  expressed  his 
scorn  in  words  befitting  his  open  character. 

The  paper  was  passed  on  until  it  reached  Mrs. 
Grayson  and  Sylvia.  Mrs.  Grayson,  with  her  usual 
reserve,  said  nothing.  Sylvia  was  openly  indignant. 

"I  shall  snub  this  man,"  she  said,  "unless  he  is  of 
the  kind  that  thinks  it  cannot  be  snubbed." 

"I  fear  that  it  is  his  kind,"  said  Harley. 

"It  looks  like  it,"  she  said. 

At  noon  the  next  day,  when  they  were  at  Red 
Cloud,  Herbert  Henry  Heathcote  arrived  on  the 
train  from  the  East,  and  the  arrival  of  him  was  wit 
nessed  by  Harley,  Hobart,  Mr.  Plummer,  and  several 
others,  who  had  gone  to  the  station  for  that  purpose 
and  none  other. 

Mr.  Heathcote,  as  he  alighted  from  the  train,  was 
obviously  a  person  of  importance,  his  apparel,  even 
had  his  manner  been  hidden,  disclosing  the  fact  to 
the  most  casual  observer.  A  felt  hat,  narrow-brim 
med  and  beautifully  creased  in  the  crown,  sat  grace 
fully  upon  his  head.  His  light  overcoat  was  baggy 
enough  in  the  back  to  hold  another  man,  as  Mr. 
Heathcote  was  not  large,  and  white  spats  were  the 
final  touch  of  an  outfit  that  made  the  less  sophisti 
cated  of  the  spectators  gasp.  "King"  Plummer 
swore  half  audibly. 

"I  wish  my  luggage  to  be  carried  up  to  the  hotel," 
said  Mr.  Heathcote,  importantly,  to  the  station 
agent. 

"He  calls  it  'luggage,'  and  this  in  Colorado!" 
groaned  Hobart. 

"Your  what?"  exclaimed  the  station  agent,  a 
large  man  in  his  shirt-sleeves,  with  a  pen  thrust  be 
hind  his  ear. 

"My  luggage;  my  trunk,"  replied  Mr.  Heathcote. 
160 


THE    CANDIDATE 

"Then  you  had  better  cany  it  yourself;  I've  noth 
ing  to  do  with  it,"  said  the  agent,  with  Western 
brusqueness,  as  he  turned  away. 

Harley,  always  ready  to  seize  an  opportunity,  and 
resolved  to  mitigate  things,  stepped  forward. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  but  this  is  Mr.  Heathcote, 
is  it  not?"  he  asked,  courteously. 

The  committeeman  put  a  glass  in  his  eye  and  re 
garded  him  quite  coolly.  Harley,  despite  his  ha 
bitual  self-control,  shuddered.  He  did  not  mind  the 
supercilious  gaze,  but  he  knew  the  effect  of  the  mono 
cle  upon  the  crowd. 

"Yes,  I  am  Mr.  Heathcote,"  said  the  committee- 
man,  "and  you — ah — I  don't  believe — ah — " 

"I  haven't  been  introduced,"  said  Harley,  with  a 
smile,  "but  I  can  introduce  myself;  it's  all  right  here 
in  the  West.  I  merely  wanted  to  tell  you  that  you 
had  better  get  them  at  the  hotel  to  send  the  porter 
down  for  your  trunk.  There  are  no  carriages,  but 
it's  only  a  short  walk  to  the  hotel.  It's  the  large 
white  building  on  the  hill  in  front  of  you." 

"Thank  you— ah— Mr.  Hardy." 

"Harley,"  corrected  the  correspondent,  quietly. 

"  I  was  about  to  say — ah — that  the  press  can  make 
itself  useful  at  times." 

Harley  flushed  slightly. 

"Yes,  even  under  the  most  adverse  circumstances," 
he  said. 

But  Mr.  Heathcote  was  already  on  the  way  to  the 
hotel,  his  white  spats  gleaming  in  the  sunshine.  It 
was  evident  that  he  intended  to  keep  the  press  in 
its  proper  place. 

"You  made  a  mistake  when  you  volunteered 
your  help,  Harley,"  said  Hobart.  "A  man  like  that 
should  be  received  with  a  club.  But  you  just  wait 
ii  161 


THE    CANDIDATE 

until  the  West  gets  through  with  him.  Your  revenge 
will  be  brought  to  you  on  a  silver  plate." 

"I'm  not  thinking  of  myself,"  replied  Harley, 
gravely.  "  It's  the  effect  of  this  on  Jimmy  Grayson's 
campaign  that's  bothering  me.  Colorado  is  doubt 
ful,  and  so  are  Utah  and  Wyoming  and  Idaho;  can 
we  go  through  them  with  a  man  like  Heathcote, 
presumably  in  charge  of  our  party?" 

Proof  that  Harley's  fears  were  justified  was  forth 
coming  at  once.  The  crowd  at  the  station,  drawn 
by  various  causes,  had  been  usually  large,  and  Mr. 
Heathcote  was  received  with  a  gasp  of  amazement. 
But  nothing  was  said  until  the  white  spats  of  the 
committeeman  disappeared  in  the  hotel.  Then  the 
people  crowded  around  the  correspondents,  with 
whom  a  six  hours'  stop  was  sufficient  to  make  them 
familiar.  "Who  is  he?"  they  asked.  "Is  he  a 
plutocrat?"  "It's  a  Wall  Street  shark,  sure." 
"Does  Jimmy  Gray  son  mean  to  hobnob  with  a 
man  like  that  ? "  "  Then  we  can't  trust  him 
either.  He's  going  to  be  a  monopolist,  too,  and 
his  claiming  to  be  champion  of  the  people  is  all  a 
bluff." 

Harley  explained  with  care  that  Mr.  Heathcote 
was  important.  To  run  a  great  presidential  campaign 
required  much  money — special  trains  must  be  paid  for, 
halls  had  to  be  hired  for  speakers,  there  was  a  vast 
amount  of  printing  to  be  done,  and  many  other  ex 
penses  that  must  be  met.  Their  party  was  poor,  as 
everybody  knew,  most  of  the  wealth  being  on  the 
other  side;  and,  when  a  man  like  Heathcote  was  will 
ing  to  contribute  his  thousands,  there  was  nothing 
to  do  but  to  take  him.  But  they  need  not  be  alarmed ; 
he  could  not  corrupt  Jimmy  Grayson;  the  candidate 
was  too  stanch,  too  true,  too  much  of  a  real  man  to 

162 


THE    CANDIDATE 

be  turned  from  the  right  path  by  any  sinister  East 
ern  influence. 

But  the  people  were  not  mollified;  they  resented 
Mr.  Heathcote's  manner  as  well  as  his  dress.  Why 
had  he  not  stopped  at  the  station  a  few  minutes,  and 
shaken  hands  with  those  who  would  have  been  glad 
to  meet  him  for  the  sake  of  fellowship  in  the  party  ? 
Harley  heard  again  the  word  "Plutocrat,"  and, 
deeming  it  wise  to  say  nothing  more  for  the  present, 
walked  back  to  the  hotel.  On  the  long  porch  sat 
a  row  of  men  in  rocking-chairs — correspondents,  town 
officials,  and  politicians,  following  in  the  wake  of  Jim 
my  Grayson.  A  state  senator,  a  big,  white-bearded 
man  named  Curtis,  who  had  been  travelling  with 
them  for  three  days,  jerked  his  finger  over  his  shoul 
der,  pointing  to  the  interior  of  the  hotel,  and  said, 
mysteriously,  to  Harley: 

"Where  did  you  get  it?" 

"New  York,"  replied  Harley,  sadly. 

"Can't  you  lose  it?" 

"I  don't  know,"  replied  Harley,  hopefully,  "but 
we  can  try." 

Hobart,  who  was  in  the  next  chair,  put  his  right 
foot  across  his  left  knee  and  nursed  it  judicially. 

"It  is  eating  its  dinner  now,"  he  said.  "It  said: 
'Landlord,  I  want  a  table  alone.  I  do  not  wish  to  be 
disturbed.'  And  just  think,  Harley,  this  is  Colorado! 
Landlord,  otherwise  Bill  Jeffreys,  was  so  taken  aback 
that  he  said,  'All  right.'  But  the  Honorable  Herbert 
Henry  Heathcote  is  being  watched.  There  are  three 
cowboys,  at  this  very  moment,  peeping  in  at  his 
window." 

There  was  a  dead  silence  for  at  least  a  minute, 
broken  at  last  by  Barton. 

"Gentlemen,"  he  said,  "you  do  not  yet  know  the 
163 


THE    CANDIDATE 

full,  the  awful  truth;  I  accidentally  heard  Heath- 
cote  telling  Jeffreys  about  it." 

"Why,  what  can  be  worse?"  asked  Harley,  and 
he  was  in  earnest. 

"Mr.  Heathcote's  man  —  his  valet,  do  you  under 
stand — arrives  to-night.  He  is  to  have  a  place  in  the 
car,  and  to  travel  with  us,  in  order  that  he  may  wait 
on  his  master." 

"King"  Plummer  uttered  an  oath. 

"The  West  can  stand  a  good  many  things,  but  it 
won't  stand  that,"  he  exclaimed.  "A  national  com- 
mitteeman  of  our  party  travelling  with  his  valet  on 
the  train  with  Jimmy  Grayson !  It  '11  cost  us  at  least 
six  states.  We  ain't  women!" 

There  succeeded  a  gloomy  silence  that  lasted  until 
Heathcote  himself  appeared  upon  the  porch,  fresh, 
dapper,  and  patronizing. 

"I  hope  you  enjoyed  your  dinner,  Mr.  Heathcote," 
said  Harley,  ever  ready  to  be  a  peacemaker. 

"Thank  you,  Mr.  Hardy — ah,  Harley;  it  did  very 
well  for  the  frontier — one  does  not  expect  much  here, 
you  know." 

Harley  glanced  uneasily  at  the  men  in  the  chairs, 
but  Mr.  Heathcote  went  on,  condescendingly  : 

"I  am  now  going  for  an  interview  with  Mr.  Gray- 
son  in  his  room.  We  shall  be  there  at  least  an  hour, 
and  we  wish  to  be  quite  alone,  as  I  have  many  things 
of  importance  to  say." 

No  one  spoke,  but  twenty  pairs  of  eyes  followed 
the  committeeman  as  he  disappeared  in  the  hotel 
on  his  way  to  Jimmy  Grayson's  room.  Then  Al- 
vord,  the  town  judge,  a  man  of  gigantic  stature,  rose 
to  his  feet  and  said,  in  a  mimicking,  feminine 
voice : 

"Gentlemen,  I  am  going  to  the  bar,  and  I  shall  be 
164 


THE    CANDIDATE 

there  at  least  an  hour;  I  wish  to  be  quite  alone,  as  I 
shall  have  many  important  things  to  drink." 

There  was  a  burst  of  laughter  that  relieved  the 
constraint  somewhat,  and  then,  obedient  to  an  in 
vitation  from  the  judge,  they  filed  solemnly  in  to  the 
bar. 

The  candidate  was  to  speak  in  the  afternoon,  and  as 
he  would  raise  some  new  issues,  sure  to  be  of  interest 
to  the  whole  country,  Harley,  following  his  familiar 
custom,  went  in  search  of  Mr.  Gray  son  for  prelimi 
nary  information.  The  hour  set  aside  by  Mr.  Heath- 
cote  had  passed  long  since,  and  Harley  thought  that 
he  would  be  out  of  the  way. 

Jimmy  Grayson's  room  was  on  the  second  floor, 
and  Harley  walked  slowly  up  the  steps,  but  at  the 
head  of  the  stairway  he  was  met  by  Mr.  Heathcote 
himself. 

"Good -afternoon,"  said  Harley,  cheerfully.  "I 
hope  that  you  had  a  pleasant  talk  with  Mr.  Gray- 
son.  I'm  going  in  to  see  him  now  myself;  a  presi 
dential  nominee  can't  get  much  rest." 

Mr.  Heathcote  drew  himself  up  importantly. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  said,  "but  you  cannot-r- 
ah — see  Mr.  Grayson.  There  has  been  a  feeling  with 
us  in  the  East — we  are  in  a  position  there  to  judge, 
being  in  thorough  touch  with  the  great  world — that 
it  was  not  advisable  for  Mr.  Grayson  to  speak  to  or 
to  come  in  direct  contact  with  the  press.  This  famil 
iar  talk  with  the  newspapers  rather  impairs  the  con 
fidence  of  our  great  magnates  and  prejudices  us  in 
the  eyes  of  Europe.  It  is  better — ah — that  his  re 
marks  should  be  transmitted  through  a  third  person, 
who  can  give  to  the  press  what  is  fitting  and  reserve 
the  remainder." 

Harley  gazed  at  Heathcote  in  amazement,  but 
165 


THE    CANDIDATE 

there  was  nothing  in  his  manner  to  indicate  that  he 
was  not  in  earnest. 

"And  you  are  the  third  person,  I  suppose?"  said 
Harley.  £ 

"I  have  so  constituted  myself,"  replied  Mr.  Heath- 
cote,  and  his  tone  was  aggravatingly  quiet  and  as 
sured.  "As  one  conversant  with  great  affairs,  I  am 
the  most  fit." 

"Has  Mr.  Grayson  agreed  to  this?"  asked  Harley. 

"My  dear  man,  I  cannot  permit  you  to  cross- 
examine  me.  But,  really,  I  wish  to  be  on  good  terms 
with  the  press,  which  is  quite  a  useful  institution 
within  its  limits.  Now,  you  seem  to  be  rather  more 
sedate  than  the  others,  and  I  wish  you  would  have 
the  goodness  to  explain  to  them  how  I  have  taken 
affairs  in  hand." 

Harley  flushed  at  his  patronizing  tone,  and  for  a 
moment  he  was  tempted  to  thrust  him  out  of  his 
way  and  proceed  with  his  errand  to  Jimmy  Gray- 
son's  room,  but  he  reflected  that  it  was  better  to  let 
the  committeeman  make  the  rope  for  his  own  hang 
ing,  and  he  turned  away  with  a  quiet,  "Very  well,  I 
shall  forego  the  interview." 

But  as  he  went  back  down  the  stairs  he  could  not 
help  asking  himself  the  question,  "  Does  Jimmy  Gray- 
son  know?  Could  he  have  consented  to  such  an 
arrangement?"  and  at  once  came  the  answer — "Im 
possible." 

He  returned  to  the  porch,  where  all  the  chairs  were 
filled,  although  the  talk  was  slow.  He  noticed,  with 
pleasure,  that  Churchill  was  absent.  The  descend 
ing  sun  had  just  touched  the  crests  of  the  distant 
mountains,  and  they  swam  in  a  tremulous  golden 
glow.  The  sunset  radiance  over  nature  in  her 
mighty  aspects  affected  all  on  the  porch,  used  as 

166 


THE    CANDIDATE 

they  were  to  it,  and  that  wds  why  they  were  silent. 
But  they  turned  inquiring  eyes  upon  Harley  when 
he  joined  them. 

"What  has  become  of  Heathcote?"  asked  Bar 
ton. 

"He  is  engaged  upon  an  important  task  just  now," 
replied  Harley. 

"And  what  is  that?" 

"He  is  editing  Jimmy  Grayson's  speech." 

Twenty  chairs  came  down  with  a  crash,  and  twenty 
pairs  of  eyes  stared  in  indignant  astonishment. 

"King"  Plummer's  effort  to  hold  himself  in  his 
chair  seemed  to  be  a  strain. 

"He  may  not  be  doing  that  particular  thing  at 
this  particular  moment,"  continued  Harley,  "but  he 
told  me  very  distinctly  that  he  was  here  for  that 
purpose,  and  he  has  also  just  told  me  that  I  could 
not  see  Jimmy  Gray  son,  that  he  intended  hence 
forth  to  act  as  an  intermediary  between  the  candi 
date  and  the  press." 

"And  you  stood  it?"  exclaimed  Hobart. 

"For  the  present,  yes,"  replied  Harley,  evenly; 
"and  I  did  so  because  I  thought  I  saw  a  better  way 
out  of  the  trouble  than  an  immediate  quarrel  with 
Heathcote — a  better  way,  above  all,  for  Jimmy  Gray- 
son  and  the  party." 

The  Western  men  said  nothing,  though  they  looked 
their  deep  disgust,  and  presently  they  quitted  the 
porch,  leaving  it,  rocking-chairs  and  all,  to  the  cor 
respondents. 

"Boys,"  said  Harley,  earnestly,  "I've  a  request  to 
make  of  you.  Let  me  take  the  lead  in  this  affair; 
I've  a  plan  that  I  think  will  work." 

"Well,  you  are  in  a  measure  the  chief  of  our  corps," 
said  Warrener,  one  of  the  Chicago  men.  "I  don't 

167 


THE    CANDIDATE 

know  why  you  are,  but  all  of  us  have  got  to  looking 
on  you  in  that  way." 

"I,  for  one,  promise  to  be  good  and  obey,"  said 
Hobart,  "but  I  won't  deny  that  it  will  be  a  hard  job. 
Perhaps  I  could  stand  the  man,  if  it  were  not  for  his 
accent — it  sounds  to  me  as  if  his  voice  were  coming 
out  of  the  top  of  his  head,  instead  of  his  chest,  where 
a  good,  honest  voice  ought  to  have  its  home." 

"Now  you  listen,"  said  Harley,  "and  I  will  my 
tale  unfold." 

Then  they  put  their  heads  together  and  talked 
long  and  earnestly. 

The  shaggy  mountains  were  in  deep  shadow,  and 
the  sunset  was  creeping  into  the  west  when  Jimmy 
Grayson  came  out  on  the  porch  where  the  corre 
spondents  yet  sat.  Harley  at  once  noticed  a  signifi 
cant  change  in  his  appearance;  he  looked  troubled. 
Before,  if  he  was  troubled,  he  always  hid  it  and  turn 
ed  a  calm  eye  to  every  issue;  but  this  evening  there 
was  something  new  and  extraordinary  about  Jimmy 
Grayson;  he  was  ashamed  and  apologetic  obviously 
so,  and  Harley  felt  a  thrill  of  pity  that  a  man  so  in 
tensely  proud  under  all  his  democracy,  or  perhaps 
because  of  it,  should  be  forced  into  a  position  in 
which  he  must  be,  seemingly  at  least,  untrue  to  him 
self. 

The  candidate  hesitated  and  glanced  at  the  cor 
respondents,  his  comrades  of  many  a  long  day,  as  if 
he  expected  them  to  ask  him  questions,  but  no  one 
spoke.  The  sinking  sun  dropped  behind  the  moun 
tains,  and  the  following  shadow  also  lay  across  Jim 
my  Grayson's  face.  He  was  the  nominee  of  a  great 
party  for  President  of  the  United  States,  but  there 
was  a  heart  in  him,  and  these  young  men,  who  had 
gone  with  him  through  good  times  and  bad  times, 

168 


THE   CANDIDATE 

through  weary  days  and  weary  nights,  were  to  him 
like  the  staff  that  has  followed  a  general  over  many 
battle-fields.  He  glanced  again  at  the  correspond 
ents,  but,  as  they  continued  to  stare  resolutely  at 
the  dark  mountains,  he  turned  and  walked  abruptly 
into  the  hotel. 

"Boys,"  exclaimed  Barton,  "it's  tough!" 

"Yes,  damned  tough,"  said  Hobart. 

"King"  Plummer,  who  was  with  them,  maintained 
a  stony  silence. 

An  hour  later  the  valet  of  the  Honorable  Herbert 
Henry  Heathcote,  a  smooth,  trim  young  Englishman, 
arrived  in  Red  Cloud,  and  never  before  in  his  vassal 
life  had  he  been  a  person  of  so  much  importance. 
The  news  had  been  spread  in  Red  Cloud  that  a  rare 
specimen  was  coming,  a  kind  hitherto  unknown  in 
those  regions.  When  John — that  was  his  name — 
alighted  from  the  train  in  the  dusk  of  a  vast,  deso 
late  Western  night,  a  crowd  of  tanned,  tall  men  was 
packed  closely  about  him,  watching  every  movement 
that  he  made.  Harley  saw  him  glance  fearfully  at 
the  dark  throng,  but  no  one  said  a  word.  As  he 
moved  towards  the  hotel,  a  valise  in  either  hand,  the 
way  opened  before  him,  but  the  crowd,  arranging 
itself  in  a  solid  mass  behind  him,  followed,  still  silent, 
until  he  reached  the  shelter  of  the  building  and  the 
protecting  wing  of  his  master.  Then  it  dispersed  in 
an  orderly  manner,  but  the  only  subject  of  conver 
sation  in  Red  Cloud  was  the  Honorable  Herbert 
Henry  Heathcote  and  his  "man,"  especially  the 
"man." 

At  the  appointed  hour  the  candidate  spoke  from 
a  stage  in  the  public  square,  and  it  would  not  be  fair 
to  say  that  his  address  fell  flat ;  but  for  the  first  time 
in  the  long  campaign  Harley  noticed  a  certain  cold- 

169 


THE    CANDIDATE 

ness  on  the  part  of  the  audience,  a  sense  of  aloofness, 
as  if  Jimmy  Gray  son  were  not  one  of  them,  but  a 
stranger  in  the  town  whom  they  must  treat  decently, 
although  they  might  not  approve  of  him  or  his  ways. 
And  Harley  did  not  have  to  seek  the  cause,  for  there 
at  a  corner  of  the  stage  sat  a  dominating  presence, 
the  Honorable  Herbert  Henry  Heathcote,  his  neck 
encircled  by  a  very  high  collar,  his  trousers  turned  up 
at  the  bottom,  and  his  white  spats  gleaming  through 
the  darkness.  More  eyes  were  upon  him  than  upon 
the  candidate,  but  Mr.  Heathcote  was  not  daunted. 
His  own  gaze,  as  it  swept  the  audience,  was  at  times 
disapproving  and  at  other  times  condescending. 

About  the  middle  of  the  speech  the  night,  as  usual, 
grew  chilly,  and  Mr.  Heathcote's  "man,"  stepping 
upon  the  stage,  assisted  him  on  with  a  light  over 
coat.  A  gasp  went  up  from  the  crowd,  and  the 
candidate,  stopping,  looked  back  and  saw  the  cause. 
Again  that  shadow  came  over  his  face,  but  in  a 
moment  he  recovered  himself  and  went  on  as  if 
there  had  been  no  interruption.  When  the  speech 
was  finished  Mr.  Heathcote  stood  a  moment  by 
the  table  at  which  Harley  was  still  writing,  and 
said: 

"I  think  you  and  your  associates  should  leave 
out  of  your  report  that  part  about  our  foreign 
relations.  However  well  received  in  the  West,  I 
doubt  whether  it  would  have  a  very  good  effect  in 
the  East." 

"But  he  said  it,"  exclaimed  Harley,  looking  up  in 
surprise. 

"Quite  true,  but  there  should  be  a  certain  reserve 
on  the  part  of  the  press.  These  expressions  have 
about  them  a  trace  of  rawness,  perhaps  inseparable 
from  a  man  like  our  nominee,  who  is  the  product  of 

170 


THE    CANDIDATE 

Western  conditions.     I  trust  that  I  shall  be  able  to 
correct  this  unfortunate  tendency." 

Harley  was  burning  with  anger,  but  the  long  prac 
tice  of  self-control  enabled  him  to  hide  it.  He  did 
not  reply,  but  resumed  his  work.  Mr.  Heathcote 
spoke  to  him  again,  but  Harley,  his  head  bent  over 
his  pad,  went  on  with  his  writing.  Nor  did  any  of 
the  other  correspondents  speak.  The  committee- 
man,  astonished  and  indignant,  left  the  stage,  and, 
followed  by  his  "man,"  returned  to  the  hotel  between 
two  silent  files  of  spectators. 

"Experience  number  one,"  was  the  only  comment 
of  the  correspondents,  and  it  came  from  Barton. 

When  Harley  went  into  the  hotel  he  saw  Jimmy 
Grayson  leaning  against  the  clerk's  desk  as  if  he 
were  waiting  for  something.  He  glanced  at  Harley, 
and  there  was  a  tinge  of  reproach  in  his  look.  Har 
ley 's  resolution  faltered,  but  it  was  only  for  a  mo 
ment,  and  then,  taking  his  key  from  the  clerk,  he 
went  in  silence  to  his  room.  He  understood  the 
position  of  Jimmy  Grayson,  he  knew  how  much  the 
party  was  indebted  to  Mr.  Heathcote  for  payment 
of  the  campaign's  necessary  expenses,  but  he  was 
determined  to  carry  out  his  plan,  which  he  believed 
would  succeed. 

But  there  was  one  man  in  Jimmy  Grayson's  group 
to  whom  the  appearance  of  Mr.  Heathcote  was  wel 
come,  and  this  was  Churchill,  who  was  sure  that  he 
recognized  in  him  a  kindred  spirit.  He  sent  a  long 
despatch  to  the  Monitor,  telling  of  the  very  beneficial 
effect  the  committeeman's  presence  already  exer 
cised  upon  the  campaign,  particularly  the  new  tone 
of  dignity  that  he  had  given  to  it.  He  also  cultivated 
Mr.  Heathcote,  and  was  willing  to  furnish  him  defer 
ential  advice. 

171 


THE    CANDIDATE 

As  the  special  train  was  to  leave  early  the  next 
morning  for  the  northern  part  of  the  state,  they 
ate  breakfast  in  a  dim  dawn,  with  only  the  rim  of 
the  sun  showing  over  the  eastern  mountains.  Mr. 
Heathcote  came  in  late  and  found  every  chair  oc 
cupied.  No  one  moved  or  took  any  notice.  Jimmy 
Grayson  looked  embarrassed,  and  said  in  a  propitia 
tory  tone  to  the  proprietor,  who  stood  near  the 
window: 

"Can't  you  fix  a  place  for  Mr.  Heathcote?" 

"Oh,  I  guess  I  kin  bring  in  a  little  table  from  the 
kitchen,"  replied  Bill  Jeffreys,  negligently,  "but  he'll 
have  to  hustle;  that  train  goes  in  less  than  ten  min 
utes." 

The  table  was  brought  in,  and  Mr.  Heathcote  ate 
more  quickly  than  ever  before  in  his  life,  although 
he  found  time  for  caustic  criticism  of  the  hotel  ac 
commodations  in  Red  Cloud.  Just  as  he  put  down  his 
half  -  emptied  coffee  -  cup  the  train  blew  a  warning 
whistle. 

"That  engineer  is  at  least  three  minutes  ahead  of 
time,"  said  Barton. 

"He's  a  lively  fellow,"  said  Hobart.  "I  was  up 
early,  and  he  told  me  he  wasn't  going  to  wait  a  single 
minute,  even  if  he  did  have  a  Presidential  nominee 
aboard." 

The  eyes  of  Barton  and  Hobart  met,  and  Barton 
understood. 

"We'd  better  run  for  it,"  said  Barton,  and  they 
hurried  to  the  train,  Mr.  Heathcote  borne  on  in  the 
press.  As  they  settled  into  their  seats  Barton  point 
ed  out  of  the  window,  and  cried:  "Look!  Look! 
The  'man'  is  about  to  get  left!" 

John,  a  valise  in  one  hand  and  a  hat -box  in  the 
other,  was  rushing  for  the  train,  which  had  already 

172 


THE   CANDIDATE 

begun  to  move.  But  the  conductor  reached  down 
the  steps,  grasped  him  by  the  collar,  and  dragged 
him,  baggage  and  all,  aboard.  John  appeared  hum 
bly  before  his  master,  who  was  silent,  however, 
merely  waving  him  to  a  seat.  Mr.  Heathcote  was 
apparently  indignant  about  something.  By- and  - 
by  he  stated  that  his  valet  had  been  forced  to  leave 
Red  Cloud  without  anything  to  eat.  Nobody  had 
looked  after  the  man,  and  he  could  not  understand 
such  neglect.  He  would  like  to  have  a  porter  bring 
him  something.  Old  Senator  Curtis,  who  was  with 
them,  spoke  up  from  a  full  heart: 

"He'll  have  to  go  hungry.  There's  no  dining-car 
on  this  train,  and  he  can't  get  a  bite,  even  for  a  bag 
ful  of  money,  till  we  get  to  Willow  Grange  at  two 
o'clock  this  afternoon." 

The  senator  was  not  excessively  polite,  and  Mr. 
Heathcote  opened  his  mouth  as  if  to  speak,  but, 
changing  his  mind,  closed  it.  He  glanced  at  Jimmy 
Gray  son,  who  looked  troubled,  although  he,  also, 
maintained  silence.  Neither  would  any  one  else 
speak;  but  every  one  was  taking  notice.  Harley  in 
his  heart  felt  sorry  for  the  poor  valet,  who  seemed  to 
be  an  inoffensive  fellow,  suited  to  his  humble  trade ; 
but  a  political  campaign  in  the  Rocky  Mountain 
West  was  no  place  for  him ;  he  must  take  what  cir 
cumstances  dealt  out  to  him. 

The  committeeman  presently  recovered  his  sense 
of  his  own  worth  and  dignity,  and  spoke  in  a  large 
manner  of  the  plans  that  he  would  take  to  raise  the 
tone  of  the  campaign.  The  candidate  still  looked 
troubled  and  made  no  comment.  The  local  public 
men,  the  correspondents,  and  all  on  the  little  train 
were  silent,  staring  out  of  the  windows,  apparently 
engrossed  in  the  scenery,  which  was  now  becoming 


THE    CANDIDATE 

grand  and  beautiful.  Ridge  rose  above  ridge,  and 
afar  the  peaks,  clad  in  eternal  snow,  looked  down  like 
heaven's  silent  sentinels. 

Mr.  Heathcote  was  very  courteous  to  Mrs.  Gray- 
son,  but  at  first  he  scarcely  noticed  Sylvia,  although 
a  little  later  he  expressed  admiration  for  her  beauty, 
not  doubting,  however,  that  he  would  find  her  the 
possessor  of  an  uncultivated  mind. 

Towards  the  noon  hour  a  tragic  discovery  was  made. 
After  the  candidate's  last  speech  in  the  evening  the 
train  would  leave  immediately  for  Utah,  and  all 
continuing  on  the  way  must  sleep  aboard.  Room 
had  been  found  in  some  manner  for  Mr.  Heathcote, 
but  every  other  berth,  upper  and  lower,  had  been 
assigned  long  ago,  and  there  was  nothing  left  for  his 
man.  But  Mr.  Heathcote,  resolved  not  to  be  tram 
pled  upon,  went  in  a  state  of  high  indignation  to  the 
conductor. 

"I  must  have  a  place  for  my  man.  I  cannot 
travel  without  an  attendant." 

"Jimmy  Grayson  does,"  replied  the  conductor,  a 
rude  Democrat  of  the  West;  "and  your  fellow  can't 
have  any,  because  there  ain't  any  to  be  had ;  besides, 
it's  'cordin'  to  train  rules  that  dogs  an'  all  such-like 
should  travel  in  the  baggage-car." 

Mr.  Heathcote  refused  to  speak  again  to  such  a 
man,  and  complained  to  the  candidate.  But  Jimmy 
Grayson  could  do  nothing. 

"This  train  on  which  we  now  are  is  paid  for  jointly 
by  the  committeemen  of  Colorado,  Utah,  and  Idaho," 
he  said,  "and  I  have  nothing  to  do  with  the  arrange 
ments.  I  should  not  like  to  attempt  interference." 

Mr.  Heathcote  looked  at  old  Senator  Curtis,  who 
seemed  to  be  in  charge,  but,  apprehending  a  blow 
to  his  dignity,  he  refrained  from  pressing  the  point, 

i74 


THE    CANDIDATE 

and  the  lackey  slept  that  night  as  well  as  he  could  on 
a  seat  in  the  smoking-car. 

The  next  few  days,  which  were  passed  chiefly  in 
Utah,  were  full  of  color  and  events.  Life  became 
very  strenuous  for  the  Honorable  Herbert  Henry 
Heathcote.  He  learned  how  to  take  his  meals  on 
the  wing,  as  it  were,  to  run  for  trains,  to  snatch  two 
hours'  sleep  anywhere  between  midnight  and  morn 
ing,  and  to  be  jostled  by  rude  crowds  that  failed  to 
recognize  his  superiority.  The  full-backed  light  over 
coat,  during  its  brief  existence  the  focus  of  so  much 
attention,  was  lost  in  a  dinner  rush  and  never  re 
appeared.  But,  above  all,  Mr.  Heathcote  had  upon 
his  hands  the  care  of  the  helpless,  miserable  lackey, 
and  never  did  a  sick  baby  require  more  attention. 
John  was  lost  amid  his  strange  and  terrible  surround 
ings.  At  mountain  towns  crowds  of  boys,  and  some 
times  men,  would  surround  him  and  jeer  at  his  pe 
culiar  appearance,  and  his  master  would  be  com 
pelled  to  come  forcibly  to  his  rescue.  He  never 
learned  how  to  run  for  the  car,  with  his  arms  full  of 
baggage,  and  once,  boarding  a  wrong  train,  he  was 
run  off  on  a  branch  line  a  full  fifty  miles.  He  was 
rescued  only  after  infinite  telegraphing  and  two  days' 
time,  when  he  reappeared,  crestfallen  and  terrified. 

And  there  was  trouble — plenty  of  it — aboard  the 
train.  There  was  never  a  berth  for  the  lackey, 
who  was  relegated  permanently  to  the  smoking-car. 
Mr.  Heathcote  himself  sometimes  had  to  fight, 
bribe,  and  intrigue  for  one — and  often  he  failed  to 
get  breakfast  or  dinner  through  false  information  or 
the  carelessness  of  somebody.  He  made  full  ac 
quaintance  with  the  pangs  of  hunger,  and  many  a 
time,  when  every  nerve  in  him  called  for  sleep,  there 
was  no  place  to  lay  his  weary  head. 

175 


THE    CANDIDATE 

Now  the  iron  entered  the  soul  of  the  Honorable 
Herbert,  and  he  became  a  soured  and  disappointed 
man,  but  he  stuck  gravely  to  his  chosen  task.  Har- 
'ley,  despite  his  dislike,  could  not  keep  from  admiring 
his  tenacity.  Nobody,  except  the  candidate,  paid 
the  slightest  attention  to  him;  even  Sylvia  and  Mrs. 
Gray  son  ignored  him ;  if  he  made  suggestions,  nobody 
said  anything  to  the  contrary,  but  they  were  never 
adopted,  and  Mr.  Heathcote  noticed,  too,  that  the 
others  seemed  to  be  enduring  the  life  easily,  while  it 
was  altogether  too  full  for  him.  If  there  was  any 
angle,  he  seemed  somehow  to  knock  against  it;  and 
if  there  was  any  pitfall,  it  was  he  who  fell  into  it. 
But  he  gave  no  sign  of  returning  to  the  East,  and  his 
misfortunes  continued.  From  time  to  time  they  got 
copies  of  the  Western  papers  containing  full  reports 
of  Jimmy  Grayson's  canvass,  and  none  of  them,  ex 
cept  the  Monitor,  ever  spoke  flatteringly  of  the  Hon 
orable  Herbert  or  his  efforts  to  put  the  campaign  on 
a  higher  plane. 

Churchill  spoke  once  to  the  group  of  correspond' 
ents  and  politicians  about  the  lack  of  deference  paid 
to  the  committeeman,  but  he  was  invited  so  feelingly 
to  attend  to  his  own  business  that  he  never  again 
risked  it.  However,  he  said  in  his  despatches  to 
the  Monitor  that  even  Mr.  Heathcote's  efforts  could 
not  keep  the  campaign  on  a  dignified  level. 

At  last,  on  one  dreadful  day,  they  lost  the  lackey 
again,  and  this  time  there  was  no  hope  of  recovery. 
He  had  been  seen,  his  hands  full  of  baggage,  running 
for  the  wrong  train,  and  when  they  heard  from  him 
he  was  far  down  in  Colorado,  stranded,  and  there 
was  no  possible  chance  for  him  to  overtake  the 
"special."  Accordingly,  his  master,  acting  under 
expert  advice,  telegraphed  him  money  and  a  ticket 

176 


THE    CANDIDATE 

and  ordered  him  back  to  New  York.  When  the  news 
was  taken  to  the  candidate  Harley  saw  an  obvious 
look  of  relief  on  his  face.  That  valet  had  been  a  ter 
rible  weight  upon  the  campaign,  and  none  knew  it 
better  than  Jimmy  Gray  son. 

Mr.  Heathcote  now  became  morose  and  silent. 
Much  of  his  lofty  and  patronizing  air  disappeared, 
although  the  desire  to  instruct  would  crop  out  at 
times.  Usually  he  was  watchful  and  suspicious,  but 
the  struggle  for  bread  and  a  place  to  sleep  necessa 
rily  consumed  a  large  portion  of  his  energies.  As 
time  dragged  on  his  manner  became  that  of  one 
hunted,  but  doggedly  enduring,  nevertheless.  The 
candidate  always  spoke  to  him  courteously,  when 
ever  he  had  a  chance,  but  then  there  was  little  time 
for  conversation,  as  the  campaign  was  now  hot  and 
fast.  Mr.  Heathcote  was,  in  fact,  a  man  alone  in 
the  world,  and  outlawed  too.  The  weight  upon  him 
grew  heavier  and  heavier  as  his  path  became  thornier 
and  thornier;  the  angles,  the  corners,  and  the  pit 
falls  seemed  to  multiply,  and  always  he  was  the  vic 
tim.  Jimmy  Grayson  looked  now  and  then  as  if  he 
would  like  to  interfere,  but  there  was  no  way  for  him 
to  interfere,  nor  any  one  with  whom  he  could  inter 
fere. 

Mr.  Heathcote  still  clung  bravely  to  some  portions 
of  his  glorious  wardrobe.  The  white  spats  he  yet 
sported,  in  the  face  of  a  belligerent  Western  democ 
racy,  and  he  paid  the  full  price.  Harley  acknowl 
edged  this  merit  in  him,  and  once  or  twice,  when  the 
committeeman,  amid  the  comments  of  the  ribald 
crowd,  turned  a  pathetic  look  upon  him,  he  was 
moved  to  pity  and  a  desire  to  help;  but  the  last 
feeling  he  resolutely  crushed,  and  held  on  his  way. 

The  campaign  swung  farther  westward  and  north- 
17? 


THE    CANDIDATE 

ward,  and  into  a  primitive  wilderness,  where  the 
audiences  were  composed  solely  of  miners  and  cow 
boys.  Old  Senator  Curtis  and  several  other  of  the 
Colorado  men  were  still  with  them,  and  one  night 
they  spoke  at  a  mining  hamlet  on  the  slope  of  a 
mountain  that  shot  ten  thousand  feet  above  them. 
The  candidate  was  in  great  form,  and  made  one  of 
his  best  speeches,  amid  roars  of  applause.  The  au 
dience  was  so  well  pleased  that  it  would  not  disperse 
when  he  finished,  and  wished  vociferously  to  know 
if  there  were  not  another  spellbinder  on  the  stage. 
Then  the  spirit  of  mischief  entered  the  soul  of  Hobart. 

The  Honorable  Herbert  sat  at  the  corner  of  the 
stage,  the  white  spats  still  gleaming  defiance,  his 
whole  appearance,  despite  recent  modifications,  show 
ing  that  he  was  a  strange  bird  in  a  strange  land. 
Hobart  constituted  himself  chairman  for  the  mo 
ment,  and,  pointing  to  Mr.  Heathcote,  said: 

"Gentlemen,  one  of  the  ablest  and  most  famous  of 
our  national  committeemen  is  upon  the  stage,  and 
he  will  be  glad  to  address  you." 

The  audience  cheered,  half  in  expectation  and 
half  in  derision,  but  the  Honorable  Herbert,  who 
had  never  made  a  speech  in  his  life,  rose  to  the  cry. 
His  figure  straightened  up,  there  was  a  new  light  in 
his  eye,  and  Harley,  startled,  did  not  know  Mr. 
Heathcote.  As  he  advanced  to  the  edge  of  the  stage 
the  shouts  of  derision  overcame  those  of  expecta 
tion.  Harley  heard  the  words  "Dude!"  "Tender 
foot!"  mingled  with  the  cries,  but  the  Honorable 
Herbert  gave  no  sign  that  he  heard.  He  reached  the 
edge  of  the  stage,  waved  his  hand,  and  then  there  was 
silence. 

"Friends,"  he  said — "  I  call  you  such,  though  you 
have  not  received  me  in  a  friendly  manner — " 

178 


THE    CANDIDATE 

The  crowd  breathed  hard,  and  some  one  uttered  a 
threat,  but  another  man  commanded  silence.  "Give 
him  a  chance!"  he  said. 

"You  have  not  received  me  in  a  friendly  manner," 
resumed  the  Honorable  Herbert,  "but  I  am  your 
friend,  and  I  am  resolved  that  you  shall  be  mine.  I 
cannot  make  a  speech  to  you,  but  I  will  tell  you  a 
story  which  perhaps  will  serve  as  well." 

"Go  on  with  the  story,"  said  the  men,  doubtfully. 
On  the  stage  there  was  a  general  waking-up.  Cor 
respondents  and  politicians  alike  recognized  the  Hon 
orable  Herbert's  new  manner,  and  they  bent  forward 
with  interest. 

"My  story,"  said  Mr.  Heathcote,  "is  of  a  man 
who  had  a  fond  and  perhaps  too  generous  father. 
This  father  had  suffered  great  hardships,  and  he 
wished  to  save  his  son  from  them.  What  more  nat 
ural?  But  perhaps,  in  his  tenderness,  he  did  the 
son  a  wrong.  So  this  son  grew  up,  not  seeing  the 
rough  side  of  life,  and  finding  all  things  easy.  He 
lived  in  a  part  of  the  country  that  is  old  and  rich, 
where  what  is  called  necessity  you  call  luxury.  He 
knew  nothing  of  the  world  except  that  portion  of  it 
to  which  he  was  used.  What  more  natural?  Is  not 
that  human  nature  everywhere  ?  He  saw  himself 
petted  and  admired,  and  in  the  course  of  time  he 
felt  himself  a  person  of  importance.  Is  not  that 
natural,  too?" 

He  paused  and  looked  over  the  audience,  which 
was  silent  and  attentive,  held  by  the  interest  of  some 
thing  unusual  and  the  deep,  almost  painful,  earnest 
ness  of  Mr/~Heathcote's  manner. 

"What's  he  coming  to?"  whispered  Hobart. 

"I  don't  know;  wait  and  see,"  replied  Harley. 

"Thus  the  man  grew  up  to  know  only  a  little  world," 
179 


THE    CANDIDATE 

the  Honorable  Herbert  went  on,  "and  he  did  not 
know  how  little  it  was.  He  was  like  a  prisoner  in  a 
gorgeous  room,  who  sees,  without,  snow  and  storm  that 
cannot  touch  him,  but  who  is  a  prisoner  neverthe 
less.  Those  whom  he  met  and  with  whom  he  lived 
his  daily  life  were  like  him,  and  they  thought  they 
were  the  heart  of  this  world.  Everything  about 
them  was  golden;  they  saw  that  people  wished  to 
hear  of  them,  to  read  of  them,  to  know  all  that  they 
did,  and  their  view  of  their  importance  grew  every 
day.  What  more  natural?  Was  not  that  human 
nature?" 

"I  think  I  see  which  way  he  is  going,"  whispered 
Hobart. 

Harley  nodded.  The  audience  was  still  and  in 
tent,  hanging  on  the  words  of  the  speaker. 

"This  youth,"  continued  Mr.  Heathcote,  "was  sent 
by-and-by  to  Europe  to  have  his  education  finished, 
and  there  all  the  ideas  formed  by  his  life  in  this  coun 
try  were  confirmed  in  him.  He  saw  a  society,  or 
ganized  centuries  ago,  in  which  every  man  found  a 
definite  place  for  life  assigned  to  him,  in  accordance 
with  what  fortune  had  done  for  him  at  birth.  There 
he  received  deference  and  homage,  even  more  than 
before,  and  the  great,  changing  world,  with  its  mighty 
tides  and  storms  that  flowed  about  his  little  group, 
leaving  it  untouched,  was  yet  unknown  to  him. 

"  He  came  back  to  his  own  country,  and  the  strong 
father  who  had  sheltered  him  died.  He  was  filled  with 
an  ambition  to  be  a  political  power,  as  his  father  had 
been,  and  the  dead  hand  brought  him  the  place. 
Then  he  came  into  the  West  to  join  in  a  great  political 
campaign,  but  it  was  his  first  real  excursion  into  the 
real  world,  and  his  ignorance  was  heavy  upon  him." 

A  deep  "Ah!"  ran  through  the  crowd,  and  Har- 
180 


THE    CANDIDATE 

ley  noticed  a  sudden  look  of  respect  upon  the  brown 
faces.  They  were  beginning  to  see  where  the  thread 
of  the  story  would  lead.  Then  Harley  glanced  at 
old  Senator  Curtis,  whose  lips  moved  tremulously 
for  a  moment.  "King"  Plummer  was  regarding 
the  committeeman  with  astonished  interest. 

"This  man,  I  repeat,"  continued  Mr.  Heathcote, 
"came  West  with  his  ignorance,  I  might  almost  say 
with  his  sins  heavy  upon  him,  but  it  was  not  his  fault; 
it  was  the  fault,  rather,  of  circumstances.  He  seemed 
a  strange,  a  grotesque  figure  to  these  people  of  the 
West,  but  they  should  not  have  forgotten  that  they 
also  seemed  strange  to  him.  It  has  been  said  that  it 
takes  many  kinds  of  people  to  make  a  world,  and 
they  cannot  all  be  alike.  One  point  of  view  may 
differ  from  another  point  of  view,  and  both  may  be 
right.  If  this  man  did  anything  wrong — and  he  ad 
mits  that  he  did — he  did  it  in  ignorance.  There  were 
some  with  him  who  knew  both  points  of  view  who 
might  have  helped  him,  but  who  did  not ;  instead,  they 
made  life  hard;  they  put  countless  difficulties  in  his 
way;  they  made  him  feel  very  wretched,  very  mean, 
and  very  little.  He  saw  the  other  point  of  view  at 
last,  but  he  was  not  permitted  to  show  that  he  saw 
it ;  he  was  put  in  such  a  position  that  his  pride  would 
not  let  him." 

The  crowd  suddenly  burst  into  cheers.  The  keen 
Western  men  understood,  and  the  mountain  -  slope 
gave  back  the  echo,  "Hurrah  for  Heathcote!"  The 
Honorable  Herbert's  figure  swelled  and  his  eyes 
flashed.  Grateful  water  was  falling  at  last  on  the 
parched  desert  sands. 

"But,  friends,"  he  continued,  "this  man,  though 
his  lesson  has  been  rough,  comes  to  you  with  no  re 
sentment.  He  has  broken  the  bars  of  his  prison; 

181 


THE    CANDIDATE 

he  is  in  the  real  world  at  last,  and  he  comes  to  you 
asking  to  be  one  of  you,  to  give  and  take  with  the 
crowd.  Will  you  have  him?" 

"Yes!"  a  chorus  of  a  thousand  voices  roared  against 
the  side  of  the  mountain  and  came  back  in  a  thunderous 
echo. 

Old  Senator  Curtis  sprang  to  his  feet,  seized  Mr. 
Heathcote  by  the  hand,  and  shouted: 

"Gentlemen,  I,  too,  need  to  apologize,  and  also 
I  want  to  introduce  to  you  a  real  man,  Mr.  Herbert 
Henry  Heathcote." 

"Put  me  down  for  an  apology,  too,"  said  "King" 
Plummer,  in  his  big,  booming  tones. 

Jimmy  Gray  son,  on  the  outskirts  of  the  crowd, 
returning  to  learn  what  the  noise  was  about,  saw  and 
heard  all,  and  murmured  to  a  friend: 

"There  is  now  a  new  member  of  our  group,  and 
all  is  well  again." 


XII 

CHURCHILL    STRIKES 

THE  conversion  and  adoption  of  Mr.  Heath  cote, 
as  Hobart  called  it,  was  a  pleasant  incident  in 
several  senses,  bringing  much  quiet  gratification  to 
them  all,  and  particularly  and  obviously  to  the  can 
didate.  A  hostile  element,  one  intended  by  others 
to  be  hostile  and  interfering,  had  become  friendly, 
which,  of  itself,  was  a  great  gain.  Moreover,  the 
smoothness  of  social  intercourse  was  increased,  and 
there,  too,  was  a  new  type,  adding  to  the  variety  and 
interest  of  the  group. 

The  only  one  not  pleased  was  Churchill,  who  had 
expected  much  from  Mr.  Heathcote,  and  who  now, 
as  he  considered  it,  saw  the  committeeman  turn 
traitor.  It  was  not  a  matter  that  he  could  handle 
fully  in  his  despatches  to  the  Monitor,  being  too  in 
tangible  to  allow  of  bald  assertion,  and  he  was  re 
duced  to  indirect  statement.  This  not  satisfying  him 
at  all,  he  wrote  a  long  letter  to  Mr.  Goodnight,  both 
for  the  sake  of  the  cause  and  for  the  sake  of  his  own 
feelings,  which  had  been  much  lacerated.  Its  pro 
duction  cost  him  a  great  deal  of  thought  and  labor; 
but  he  had  his  reward,  as  its  perusal  after  completion 
proved  to  him  that  it  was  a  masterpiece. 

Churchill  showed  quite  clearly  to  Mr.  Goodnight 
the  steady  decay  of  the  candidate's  character  and 
the  lower  levels  to  which  his  campaign  was  falling. 


THE  CANDIDATE 

In  the  security  of  a  private  letter  it  was  not  neces 
sary  for  him  to  spare  words,  and  Churchill  spoke  his 
mind  forcibly  about  the  manner  in  which  Jimmy 
Grayson  was  pandering  to  the  "common  people," 
the  "ignorant  mob,"  the  "  million-footed."  Churchill 
himself,  although  not  old,  had  taken  long  ago  the 
measure  of  these  foolish  common  people,  and  he  de 
spised  them,  his  contempt  giving  him  a  very  pleas 
ant  conviction  of  his  own  superiority. 

He  also  poured  a  few  vials  of  wrath  upon  the  head 
of  Mr.  Heath  cote,  whom  he  characterized  as  a  coward, 
not  able  to  stand  up  against  petty  persecution,  and 
from  the  committeeman  he  passed  on  to  others  of 
Mr.  Grayson's  immediate  following,  taking  "King" 
Plummer  next.  Mr.  Plummer,  in  his  opinion,  was 
an  excellent  type  of  democracy  run  to  riot.  He  was 
one  of  the  "boys"  in  every  sense.  He  was  wofully 
wanting  in  personal  dignity,  speaking  to  everybody 
in  the  most  familiar  manner,  and  encouraging  the 
same  form  of  address  towards  himself;  he  failed  ut 
terly  to  recognize  the  superiority  of  some  other  men, 
and  he  was  grossly  ignorant,  knowing  nothing  what 
ever  of  Europe  and  the  vast  work  that  had  been  done 
there  for  civilization  and  order.  Moreover,  he  could 
not  be  induced,  even  by  the  well-informed,  to  take  any 
interest  in  the  Old  World,  and  once  had  had  the 
rudeness  to  say  to  Churchill  himself,  "What  in  the 
devil  is  Europe  to  us?" 

Churchill  thus  subjected  the  views  of  "King" 
Plummer  to  the  process  of  elaboration  because  they 
had  made  a  vivid  impression  upon  him.  He  and  the 
"King"  had  never  been  able  to  get  on  together,  the 
mountaineer  treating  him  with  rough  indifference, 
and  Churchill  returning  it  with  a  hauteur  which  he 
considered  very  effective.  To  Churchill  men  of 

184 


THE   CANDIDATE 

"King"  Plummer's  type  seemed  the  greatest  danger 
the  country  could  have.  Their  lack  of  respect  for 
diplomacy,  their  want  of  form  and  ceremony,  their 
brutal  habit  of  calling  things  by  their  names,  were 
in  his  opinion  revolutionary.  He  did  not  see  how 
dealings  with  foreign  nations,  which  always  loom 
ed  very  large  to  him,  could  be  conducted  by  such 
men.  Always  in  his  mind  was  the  question,  What 
would  they  say  in  London  and  Vienna  and  Berlin? 
and  the  Monitor,  which  he  served  faithfully,  confirm 
ed  him  through  its  tone  in  this  mental  state.  Still 
drawing  his  inspiration  from  the  Monitor,  he  regard 
ed  a  sneer  as  invariably  the  best  weapon ;  if  you  were 
opposed  to  anything,  the  proper  way  to  attack  it 
was  by  sneering  at  it;  then,  not  having  used  argu 
ment,  you  never  put  yourself  in  a  position  to  have 
your  arguments  refuted. 

From  "King"  Plummer,  Churchill  passed  to  some 
of  his  associates — like  the  Monitor,  he  never  hesi 
tated  to  befoul  his  own  nest — and  he  told  Mr.  Good 
night  how  the  candidate  was  using  them,  how  they 
had  wholly  fallen  under  the  spell  of  his  undeniable 
charm  of  manner,  and  how  they  wrote  to  please  him 
rather  than  to  tell  the  truth. 

As  he  sealed  his  long  letter,  Churchill  felt  the  con 
scious  glow  of  right-doing  and  stern  self-sacrifice. 
He  had  written  thus  for  the  good  of  the  party  and 
the  good  of  the  country,  and  he  was  strengthened, 
too,  by  the  feeling  that  he  could  not  possibly  be 
wrong.  The  Monitor  cultivated  the  sense  of  omni 
science,  which  it  communicated  in  turn  to  all  the 
members  of  its  staff. 

He  passed  Sylvia  Morgan  on  his  way  from  the 
hotel  reading-room  to  the  lobby  to  mail  his  letter, 
and  when  he  met  her  he  quickly  turned  down  the 

185 


THE   CANDIDATE 

address  on  the  envelope,  in  order  that  she  might  not 
see  it.  It  was  done  by  impulse,  and  Churchill,  for 
the  first  time,  had  a  feeling  of  guilt  that  made 
him  angry. 

"That  must  be  a  love  letter,  Mr.  Churchill,"  said 
Sylvia,  teasing  him  with  the  easy  freedom  of  the 
West.  "Do  you  write  her  twenty-four  pages,  or  only 
twenty?" 

"I  have  no  love  except  my  work,  Miss  Morgan," 
replied  Churchill,  assuming  his  most  grandiose  air. 

"  Is  that  a  permanent  affection,  or  a  passing  fancy  ?" 

Her  face  expressed  the  most  eager  interest,  as  if 
she  could  not  possibly  be  happy  until  she  had  Church 
ill's  answer.  The  words  were  frivolous,  but  her  man 
ner  was  most  deferential,  and  Churchill  concluded 
that  she  was  expressing  respect  in  as  far  as  what  he 
considered  her  shallow  nature  could  do  so. 

"It  is,  I  hope,  a  permanent  passion,  Miss  Morgan," 
he  replied,  gravely.  "There  is  a  pleasure  in  doing 
one's  duty,  particularly  under  disagreeable  circum 
stances,  which  I  am  happy  to  say  I  have  felt  more 
than  once,  and  custom  usually  strengthens  one  who 
walks  in  the  right  path." 

Still  in  this  mood  of  contemplation,  he  regarded 
her,  and  he  thought  he  saw  a  slight  look  of  awe  ap 
pear  in  her  eyes.  His  opinion  of  her  rose  at  once. 
While  not  able  to  show  merit  of  the  highest  degree, 
she  could  perceive  it  in  others,  and  this  differentiated 
her  from  the  rest  of  the  group.  Churchill  allowed  him 
self  to  see  that  she  had  a  fine  face  and  a  slender, 
beautiful  figure,  and  he  felt  it  a  pity  that  she  should 
be  thrown  away  on  a  crude,  rough  old  mountaineer 
like  Plummer. 

"  I  often  think,  Miss  Morgan,"  he  said,  "that  if  you 
had  lived  in  the  East  awhile  you  could  have  been 

186 


THE    CANDIDATE 

quite  a  match  for  any  woman  whom  I  have  ever 
known." 

"Thank  you,"  she  replied,  humbly.  "Oh,  if  I 
could  only  have  lived  in  the  East  just  a  little  while!" 

"But  I  assure  you,  Miss  Morgan,  I  have  met  some 
very  remarkable  women." 

"I  do  not  doubt  it,  and  they  have  had  an  equal 
good-fortune." 

Churchill  looked  suspiciously  at  her,  but  there  was 
the  same  touch  of  deference  in  her  manner,  and  he 
still  honored  her  with  his  conversation.  He  per 
mitted  himself  to  discourse  a  little  upon  the  affairs 
which  he  had  embodied — "embodied"  he  felt  was 
the  word — in  his  letter,  and  she,  with  all  a  woman's 
intuition,  and  much  of  masculine  reasoning  power, 
guessed  what  the  letter  contained,  although  she  did 
not  know  to  whom  it  was  going.  Nor  did  she  feel 
it  wrong  to  be  very  attentive,  as  Churchill  talked, 
because  he  was  doing  it  of  his  own  free  will,  and  she 
had  the  fate  of  her  uncle  deeply  at  heart. 

ChurchiU  spoke  of  the  campaign,  venturing  upon 
polite  criticisms  of  certain  features  that  seemed  ob 
jectionable  to  him,  and,  listening  to  him,  she  confirm 
ed  her  opinion  that  he  was  the  personal  representa 
tive  with  Mr.  Grayson  of  the  chief  elements  within 
the  party  that  could  cause  trouble.  And  she  felt 
sure,  too,  that  the  letter  he  held  in  his  hand  would 
add  fuel  to  the  fire  already  burning.  She  happened 
also  to  be  present  several  days  later  when  a  mes 
senger-boy  handed  him  a  telegram,  and,  when  he 
opened  it,  he  made  an  involuntary  motion  to  hide 
it,  just  as  he  ha4  done  with  the  letter.  She  pre 
tended  not  to  see,  and  walked  away,  but  she  knew 
as  well  as  if  he  had  told  her  that  the  telegram  was 
the  reply  to  the  letter. 

187 


THE    CANDIDATE 

Mr.  Goodnight  himself  sent  the  despatch,  and  he 
thanked  Churchill  warmly  for  the  very  important 
information  told  so  luminously  in  his  letter.  The 
solid  and  respectable  portion  of  the  party  had  hoped 
much  from  the  presence  of  Mr.  Heathcote,  but  as 
he  had  yielded  to  the  influence  of  another,  instead 
of  exerting  his  own,  it  would  be  necessary  to  take 
additional  action  later.  Meanwhile  he  requested 
Mr.  Churchill  to  keep  him  accurately  and  promptly 
informed  of  everything,  and  Churchill  at  once  tele 
graphed:  "Despatch  received.  Will  be  glad  to  com 
ply  with  your  request." 

Then  he  congratulated  himself,  and  felt  good,  his 
complacent  demeanor  forming  a  contrast  to  that  of 
several  others  in  the  party.  The  latter  were  "  King" 
Plummer,  Sylvia  Morgan,  and  John  Harley,  all  of 
whom  were  unhappy. 

Harley  was  troubled  by  his  conscience,  and  he 
could  not  do  anything  to  keep  it  from  sticking  those 
little  pins  into  him.  Sylvia  Morgan,  despite  herself, 
drew  him  on,  not  the  less  because  his  first  feeling 
towards  her  had  been  one  of  hostility.  She  had  a 
piquant  touch,  a  manner  full  of  unconscious  allure 
ment — the  radiation  of  a  pure  soul,  though  it  was — 
that  he  had  never  seen  in  any  other  woman,  and  the 
harder  he  fought  against  it,  the  more  surely  it  con 
quered  him.  He  took  from  his  valise  a  copy  of  that 
old  Chicago  newspaper,  with  her  picture  on  the  front 
page,  and  wondered  how  he  could  have  intimated  that 
she  was  the  cause  of  its  being  there.  As  he  knew 
her  better,  he  knew  that  she  could  not  have  done 
it,  and  he  knew,  too,  that  she  would  have  scornfully 
resented  any  insinuation  of  having  done  so  by  refus 
ing  to  deny  it. 

The  "King"  was  unhappy,  too,  in  his  way,  and 
188 


THE    CANDIDATE 

that  was  very  bad  indeed  for  him.  He  had  tried  an 
effusive  gallantry,  and  it  did  not  seem  to  succeed 
any  better  than  obedience  to  his  own  impulses — on 
the  whole,  rather  worse;  and  now,  not  knowing  what 
else  to  do,  he  sulked.  It  was  not  any  sly  sulking, 
but  genuine,  open  sulking  in  his  large,  Western  way, 
thus  leaving  it  apparent  to  all  that  the  great  "King" 
Plummer  was  sad.  And  that  meant  much  to  the 
party,  because  in  a  sense  it  was  now  personally  con 
ducted  by  him.  In  his  joyous  mood,  which  was 
his  usual  mood  until  the  present,  he  had  a  large  and 
pervasive  personality  that  was  a  wonderful  help 
to  travel  and  social  intercourse.  They  missed  his 
timely,  if  now  and  then  a  trifle  rough,  jests,  his  vast 
knowledge  of  the  mountains,  which  had  some  good 
story  of  every  town  to  which  they  came,  and  his  in 
finite  zest  and  humor,  which  also  communicated 
more  zest  and  humor  to  every  one  with  him.  It  was 
a  grievous  day  for  them  all  when  "King"  Plummer 
began  to  mourn.  More  than  one  guessed  the  cause, 
but  wisely  they  refrained  from  any  attempt  to  re 
move  it.  They  could  do  nothing  but  endure  the 
gloom  in  silence,  until  the  clouds  passed,  as  they 
hoped  they  would  pass. 

The  candidate,  too,  was  troubled,  and  sought  the 
privacy  of  the  special  car's  drawing-room  more  than 
usual.  Sylvia  Morgan  had  given  him  a  hint  that 
attacks  upon  him  from  a  certain  source  were  likely 
to  be  renewed,  and,  moreover,  would  increase  in 
virulence.  He  soon  found  that  she  was  right,  as 
the  copies  of  the  Monitor  that  they  now  obtained 
were  frankly  cynical  and  unbelieving.  All  of  its  de 
spatches  from  the  West,  Churchill's  as  well  as  others, 
were  depreciatory.  The  candidate  was  invariably 
made  to  appear  in  a  bad  light — which  is  an  easy  mat- 

189 


THE    CANDIDATE 

ter  to  do,  in  any  case,  without  sacrifice  of  the  truth — 
that  is,  verbally,  only  the  spirit  being  changed — and 
the  editor  reinforced  them  with  strong  criticisms,  in 
which  quotations  from  English  writers  and  a  French 
phrase  now  and  then  were  freely  employed.  The 
whole  burden  of  it  was,  "We  support  this  candidate; 
but,  oh,  how  hard  it  is  for  us  to  do  it,  how  badly  we 
feel  about  it,  and  how  much  easier  it  would  be  for 
us  to  support  any  other  man!"  It  also  printed 
many  contributions  from  readers,  in  all  of  which  the 
contributors  spoke  of  themselves  as  belonging  by 
nature  and  cultivation  to  the  select  few,  "the  saving 
remnant,"  who  really  knew  what  was  good  for  the 
country.  Here  much  latitude  of  expression  was  al 
lowed,  as  the  paper  was  not  directly  responsible  for 
what  these  gentlemen  said.  They  wrote  of  the  way 
in  which  the  dignity  of  a  great  party  had  been  de 
stroyed  by  the  uncouth  and  talkative  Westerner  who 
had  been  lucky  enough  to  secure  the  nomination. 
They  felt  that  they  had  been  shamed  in  the  face  of 
the  world,  and  more  than  once  asked  the  burning 
and  painful  question,  "What  will  Europe  say?" 
They  asked,  also,  if  it  were  yet  too  late  to  amend  the 
error,  and  they  threw  forth  the  suggestion  that  the 
intelligent  and  cultured  minority  within  the  party 
might  refrain  from  voting,  when  election  day  came, 
or,  in  a  pinch,  might  vote  for  the  other  man. 

These  communications  were  signed,  sometimes, 
with  Latin  names,  and  sometimes  with  names  in 
modern  English,  but  always  they  indicated  a  certain 
sense  of  superiority  and  of  detachment  from  the 
crowd  on  the  part  of  the  signers. 

The  annoyance  of  the  candidate  increased  as  he 
read  copies  of  the  Monitor,  which  were  sent  to  him 
in  numbers.  He  knew  that  the  paper  was  the  chief 

190 


THE    CANDIDATE 

spokesman  of  an  influential  minority  within  the 
party,  and  the  divergence  between  the  majority  and 
the  minority  was  already  manifest.  It  was  evident, 
too,  that  it  was  bound  to  become  greater,  and  that 
was  why  the  candidate  was  troubled.  He  wished  to 
become  President;  it  was  his  great  desire,  and  he 
did  not  seek  to  conceal  it;  he  considered  it  a  legiti 
mate,  a  noble  ambition,  one  that  any  American  had 
a  right  to  have,  and  he  was  in  the  first  flush  of  his 
great  powers,  when  such  a  position  would  appeal 
most  to  a  strong  man.  Now,  even  when  the  fight, 
with  a  united  party,  was  desperate  at  best,  he  fore 
saw  a  defection,  and  hot  wrath  rose  up  in  his  veins 
against  Goodnight,  the  Monitor,  and  all  their  fol 
lowing. 

But  the  worst  of  the  whole  position  to  a  man  of 
Grayson's  open  and  direct  temperament  was  the  ne 
cessity  to  keep  silent,  even  to  dissemble,  or,  at  least, 
to  do  that  which  seemed  to  him  very  near  to  dis 
sembling.  Although  he  was  under  so  fierce  a  fire, 
he  would  not  allow  any  one  to  find  fault  with  Church 
ill  for  his  despatches;  and  this  was  not  always  easy 
to  do,  because  many  of  the  local  politicians,  who  were 
on  the  train  from  time  to  time,  would  grow  hot  at 
sight  of  the  criticisms,  and  want  to  attack  the  writer. 
But  Jimmy  Gray  son  always  interfered,  and  reminded 
them  that  it  was  the  right  of  the  press  to  speak  so  if 
it  wished.  Churchill  still  wondered,  why  he  was  not 
a  martyr,  and  wasted  his  regrets.  Mrs.  Grayson  and 
Sylvia  maintained  an  eloquent  silence. 

Meanwhile,  an  event  destined  to  give  Churchill 
and  the  Monitor  a  yet  greater  shock  was  approaching. 


XIII 

THE    THIRD    DEGREE 

THE  candidate  and  his  company  were  due  one 
night  at  Grayville,  a  brisk  Colorado  town,  dwell 
ing  snugly  in  the  shadow  of  high  mountains  and 
hopeful  of  a  brilliant  future,  based  upon  the  mines 
within  its  limits  and  the  great  pastoral  country  be 
yond,  as  any  of  its  inhabitants,  asked  or  unasked, 
would  readily  have  told  you.  Hence  there  was  joy 
in  the  train,  from  Jimmy  Gray  son  down,  because  the 
next  day  was  to  be  Sunday,  a  period  of  rest,  no 
speeches  to  be  made,  nothing  to  write,  but  just  rest, 
sleeping,  eating,  idling,  bathing,  talking  —  whatever 
one  chose  to  do.  Only  those  who  have  been  on 
arduous  campaigns  can  appreciate  the  luxury  of  such 
a  day  now  and  then,  cutting  like  a  sweep  of  green 
grass  across  the  long  and  dusty  road. 

There  was  also  quite  a  little  group  of  women  on  the 
train,  the  wives  of  several  Colorado  political  leaders 
having  joined  Sylvia  and  Mrs.  Gray  son  for  a  while, 
and  they,  too,  looked  forward  to  a  day  of  rest  and 
the  restoration  of  their  toilets. 

"They  tell  me  that  Grayville  has  one  of  the  best 
hotels  in  the  mountains,"  said  Barton  to  Harley,  his 
brother  correspondent.  "That  you  can  get  a  dinner 
in  a  dozen  courses,  if  you  want  it,  and  every  course 
good;  that  it  has  real  porcelain-lined  bath-tubs,  and 
beds  sure  to  cure  the  worst  case  of  insomnia  on 

192 


THE    CANDIDATE 

earth.  Do  you  think  this  improbable,  this  ex 
travagant  but  most  fascinating  tale  can  be  true, 
Harley?" 

"I  live  in  hope,"  replied  Harley. 

"Jimmy  Grayson  has  been  here  before,"  inter 
rupted  Hobart,  "and  he  says  it's  true,  every  word 
of  it;  if  Jimmy  Grayson  vouches  for  a  thing,  that 
settles  it ;  and  here  is  a  copy  of  the  Grayville  Argus; 
it  has  to  be  a  pretty  good  town  that  can  publish  as 
smart  a  daily  as  this." 

He  handed  a  neat  sheet  to  Barton,  who  laughed. 

' '  There  speaks  the  great  detective , "  he  said .  ' '  You 
know,  Harley,  how  Hobart  is  always  arguing  from 
the  effect  back  to  the  cause." 

Hobart,  in  fact,  was  not  a  political  writer,  but  a 
"murder  mystery"  man,  and  the  best  of  his  kind  in 
New  York,  but  the  regular  staff  correspondent  of  his 
paper,  the  Leader,  being  ill,  he  had  been  sent  in  his 
place.  He  was  a  Harvard  graduate  and  a  gentle 
man  with  a  taste  for  poetry,  but  he  had  a  peculiar 
mind,  upon  which  a  murder  mystery  acted  as  an  ir 
ritant — he  could  not  rest  until  he  had  solved  it — and 
his  paper  always  put  him  on  the  great  cases,  such  as 
those  in  which  a  vast  metropolis  like  New  York 
abounds.  Now  he  was  restless  and  discontented;  the 
tour  seemed  to  him  the  mere  reporting  of  speeches 
and  obvious  incidents  that  everybody  saw ;  there  was 
nothing  to  unravel,  nothing  that  called  for  the  keen 
edge  of  a  fine  intellect. 

"Grayville,  with  all  its  advantages  as  a  place  of 
rest,  is  sure  to  be  like  the  other  mountain  towns," 
he  said,  somewhat  sourly — "the  same  houses,  the 
same  streets,  the  same  people,  I  might  almost  say 
the  same  mountains.  There  will  be  nothing  unusual, 
nothing  out  of  the  way." 

13  193 


THE    CANDIDATE 

Harley  had  taken  the  paper  from  Barton's  hands 
and  was  reading  it. 

"At  any  rate,  if  Grayville  is  not  unusual,  it  is  to 
have  an  unusual  time,"  he  interrupted. 

"How  so?" 

"It  is  to  hear  Jimmy  Grayson  speak  Monday,  and 
it  is  going  to  hang  a  man  Tuesday.  See,  the  two 
events  get  equal  advance  space,  two  columns  each, 
on  the  front  page." 

He  handed  the  paper  to  Hobart,  who  looked  at  it 
a  little  while  and  then  dropped  it  with  an  air  of  in 
creasing  discontent. 

"That  may  mean  something  to  the  natives,"  he 
said;  "it  may  be  an  indication  to  them  that  their 
place  is  becoming  important — a  metropolis  in  which 
things  happen — but  it  is  nothing  to  me.  This  hang 
ing  case  is  stale  and  commonplace ;  it  is  perfectly  clear ; 
a  young  fellow  named  Boyd  is  to  be  hanged  for  kill 
ing  his  partner,  another  miner;  no  doubt  about  his 
guilt,  plenty  of  witnesses  against  him,  his  own  denial 
weak  and  halting — in  fact,  half  a  confession ;  jury  out 
only  five  minutes;  whole  thing  as  bald  and  flat  as 
this  plain  through  which  we  are  running." 

He  tapped  with  his  finger  on  the  dusty  car-window, 
and  his  expression  was  so  gloomy  that  the  others 
could  not  restrain  a  laugh. 

"Cheer  up,  old  man,"  said  Barton.  "Four  more 
hours  and  we  are  in  Grayville;  just  think  of  that 
wonderful  hotel,  with  its  more  wonderful  beds  and 
its  yet  more  wonderful  kitchen." 

The  hotel  was  all  that  they  either  expected  or 
hoped,  and  the  dawn  brought  a  beautiful  Sunday, 
disclosing  a  pretty  little  frontier  city  with  its  green, 
irrigated  valley  on  one  side  and  the  brown  mountains, 
like  a  protecting  wall,  on  the  other.  Harley  slept 

194 


THE    CANDIDATE 

late,  and  after  breakfast  came  out  upon  the  veranda 
to  enjoy  the  luxury  of  a  rocking-chair,  with  the  soft 
October  air  around  him  and  the  majesty  of  the 
mountains  before  him.  He  hoped  to  find  Sylvia 
there,  but  neither  she  nor  any  of  the  ladies  was  pres 
ent.  Instead,  there  was  a  persistent,  inquiring  spirit 
abroad  which  would  not  let  him  rest,  and  this  spirit 
belonged  to  Hobart,  the  "mystery"  man. 

Harley  had  not  been  enjoying  the  swinging  ease 
of  the  rocking-chair  five  minutes  before  Hobart,  the 
light  of  interest  in  his  eyes,  pounced  upon  him. 

"  Harley,  old  fellow,"  he  exclaimed,  "  this  is  the  first 
place  we've  struck  in  which  Jimmy  Grayson  is  not 
the  overwhelming  attraction." 

"The  hanging,  I  suppose,"  said  Harley,  carelessly. 

"Of  course.  What  else  could  there  be?  It  oc 
curred  to  me  last  night,  when  I  was  reading  the 
paper,  that  I  might  scare  up  a  feature  or  two  in  the 
case,  and  I  was  out  of  my  bed  early  this  morning  to 
try.  It  was  a  forlorn  hope,  I'll  admit,  but  any 
thing  was  better  than  nothing,  and  I've  had  my  re 
ward.  I've  had  my  reward,  old  fellow!" 

He  chuckled  outright  in  his  glee.  Harley  smiled. 
Hobart  always  interested  and  amused  him.  The 
instinctive  way  in  which  he  unfailingly  rose  to  a 
"case"  showed  his  natural  genius  for  that  sort  of 
thing. 

"I  haven't  seen  Boyd  yet,"  continued  Hobart,  ex 
citedly,  "but  I've  found  out  this  much  already — 
there  are  people  in  Grayville  who  believe  Boyd  in 
nocent.  It  is  true  that  he  and  Wofford — the  mur 
dered  man  —  had  been  quarrelling  in  Grayville,  and 
Boyd  was  taken  at  the  shanty  with  the  blood-stained 
knife  in  his  hand;  but  that  doesn't  settle  it." 

Harley  could  not  restrain  an  incredulous  laugh. 
195 


THE   CANDIDATE 

"  It  seems  to  me  those  two  circumstances,  omitting 
the  other  proof,  are  pretty  convincing,"  he  said. 

Hobart  flushed.  "You  just  wait  until  I  finish," 
he  said,  somewhat  defiantly.  "Now  Boyd,  as  I  have 
learned,  was  a  good-hearted,  generous  young  fellow. 
The  quarrel  amounted  to  very  little,  and  probably 
had  been  patched  up  before  they  reached  their  shack." 

"That  is  a  view  which  the  jury  evidently  could  not 
take." 

"Juries  are  often  wooden-headed." 

"Of  course — in  the  eyes  of  superior  people." 

"Now  don't  you  try  to  be  satirical — it's  not  your 
specialty.  I  mean  to  finish  the  tale.  If  you  read 
the  paper,  you  will  recall  that  the  shanty  where  the 
murder  occurred  was  only  a  short  distance  from  the 
mountain-road,  and  there  were  three  witnesses — Bill 
Metzger,  a  dissolute  cowboy  who  was  passing,  and 
who,  attracted  by  Wofford's  death-cry,  ran  to  the 
cabin  and  found  Boyd,  blood-stained  knife  in  hand, 
bending  over  the  murdered  man;  Ed  Thorpe,  a  tramp 
miner,  who  heard  the  same  cry  and  who  came  up 
two  or  three  minutes  later;  and,  finally,  Tim  Williams, 
a  town  idler,  who  was  on  the  mountain-side,  hunting. 
The  other  two  heard  him  fire  his  gun  a  few  hundred 
yards  away,  and  called  to  him.  When  he  arrived, 
Boyd  was  still  dazed  and  muttering  to  himself,  as  if 
overpowered  by  the  horror  of  his  crime." 

"If  that  isn't  conclusive,  then  nothing  is,"  said 
Harley,  decisively. 

"It  is  not  conclusive;  there  was  no  real  motive  for 
Boyd  to  do  such  a  thing." 

"To  whom  did  the  knife  belong?" 

"It  was  a  long  bread-knife  that  the  two  used  at 
the  cabin." 

"There  you  are!     Proof  on  proof  I" 
196 


THE    CANDIDATE 

"Now,  you  keep  silent,  Harley,  and  come  with  me, 
like  a  good  fellow,  and  see  Boyd  in  the  jail.  If  you 
don't,  I  swear  I'll  pester  the  life  out  of  you  for  a  week." 

Harley  rose  reluctantly,  as  he  knew  that  Hobart 
would  keep  his  word.  He  believed  it  the  idlest  of 
errands,  but  the  jail  was  only  a  short  distance  from 
them,  and  the  business  would  not  take  long.  On  the 
way  Hobart  talked  to  him  about  the  three  witnesses. 
Metzger,  the  cowboy,  on  the  day  of  the  murder,  had 
been  riding  in  from  a  ranch  farther  down  the  valley ; 
the  other  two  had  been  about  the  town  until  a  short 
time  before  the  departure  of  Boyd  and  Wofford  for 
their  cabin. 

They  reached  the  jail,  a  conspicuous  stone  build 
ing  in  the  centre  of  the  town,  and  were  shown  into 
the  condemned  man's  cell.  The  jailer  announced 
them  with  the  statement: 

"Tim,  here's  two  newspaper  fellers  from  the  East 
wants  to  see  you." 

The  prisoner  was  lying  on  a  pallet  in  the  corner  of 
his  cell,  and  he  raised  himself  on  his  elbow  when 
Harley  and  Hobart  entered. 

"You  are  writers  for  the  papers?"  he  said. 

"Yes,  clean  from  New  York;  they  are  with  Jimmy 
Gray  son,"  the  jailer  answered  for  them. 

"  I  don't  know  as  I've  got  anythin'  to  say  to  you," 
continued  the  prisoner.  "I  'ain't  got  no  picture  to 
give  you,  an'  if  I  had  one  I  wouldn't  give  it.  I  don't 
want  my  hangin'  to  be  all  wrote  up  in  the  papers, 
with  pictures  an'  things,  too,  jest  to  please  the  people 
in  the  East.  If  I've  got  to  die,  I'd  rather  do  it  quiet 
and  peaceful,  among  the  boys  I  know.  I  ain't  no 
free  circus." 

"We  did  not  come  to  write  you  up;  it  was  for  an 
other  purpose,"  Harley  hastened  to  say. 

197 


THE    CANDIDATE 

He  was  surprised  at  the  youth  of  the  prisoner,  who 
obviously  was  not  over  twenty-one,  a  mere  boy,  with 
good  features  and  a  look  half  defiant,  half  appealing. 

"Well,  what  did  you  come  for,  then?"  asked  the 
boy. 

Harley  was  unable  to  answer  this  question,  and 
he  looked  at  Hobart  as  if  to  indicate  the  one  who 
would  reply.  The  "mystery"  man  did  not  seek  to 
evade  his  responsibility  in  the  least,  and  promptly 
said: 

"Mr.  Boyd,  I  think  you  will  acquit  us  of  any  in 
tention  to  intrude  upon  you.  It  was  the  best  of 
motives  that  brought  us  to  you.  I  have  always  had 
an  interest  in  cases  of  this  sort,  and  when  I  heard  of 
yours  in  the  train,  coming  here,  I  received  an  im 
pression  then  which  has  been  strengthened  on  my 
arrival  in  Grayville.  I  believe  you  are  innocent." 

The  boy  looked  up.  A  sudden  flash  of  gratitude, 
almost  of  hope,  appeared  in  his  eyes. 

"I  am!"  he  cried.  "God  knows  I  didn't  kill  Bill 
Wofford.  He  wuz  my  partner  and  we  wuz  like 
brothers.  We  did  quarrel  that  mornin' — I  don't 
deny  it — and  we  both  had  been  liquorin' ;  but  I'd 
never  hev  struck  him  a  blow  of  any  kind,  least  of 
all  a  foul  one." 

"Was  it  not  true  that  you  were  found  with  the 
bloody  knife  in  your  hand,  standing  over  his  yet 
warm  body?"  asked  Hobart. 

"It's  so,  but  it  was  somebody  else  that  used  the 
knife.  Bill  went  on  ahead,  and  when  I  come  into 
the  place  I  saw  him  on  the  floor  an'  the  knife  in  'im. 
I  was  struck  all  a-heap,  but  I  did  what  anybody  else 
would  'a'  done — I  pulled  the  knife  out.  And  then  the 
fellers  come  in  on  me.  I  was  rushed  into  a  trial 
right  away.  Of  course,  I  couldn't  tell  a  straight  tale; 

198 


THE   CANDIDATE 

the  horror  of  it  was  still  in  my  brain,  and  the  effect 
o'  the  liquor,  too.  I  got  all  mixed  up — but  before 
God,  gen'lemen,  I  didn't  do  it." 

His  tone  was  strong  with  sincerity,  and  his  ex 
pression  was  rather  that  of  grief  than  remorse.  Har 
ley,  who  had  had  a  long  experience  with  all  kinds  of 
men  in  all  kinds  of  situations,  did  not  believe  that 
he  was  either  bad  or  guilty.  Hobart  spoke  his 
thoughts  aloud. 

"I  don't  think  you  did  it,"  he  said. 

"Everybody  believes  I  did,"  said  Boyd,  with  pa 
thetic  resignation,  "and  I  am  to  be  hanged  for  it. 
So  what  does  it  matter  now?" 

"I  am  going  to  look  for  the  guilty  man,"  said 
Hobart,  decidedly. 

Boyd  shook  his  head  and  lay  back  on  his  pallet. 
The  others,  with  a  few  words  of  hope,  withdrew,  and, 
when  they  were  outside,  Harley  said: 

"Hobart,  were  you  not  wrong  to  sow  the  seed  of 
hope  in  that  man's  mind  when  there  is  no  hope?" 

"There  is  hope,"  replied  Hobart;  "I  have  a  plan. 
Don't  ask  me  anything  about  it — it's  vague  yet- — 
but  I  may  work  it." 

Harley  glanced  at  him,  and,  seeing  that  he  was  in 
tense  and  eager,  with  his  mind  concentrated  upon 
this  single  problem,  resolved  to  leave  him  to  his  own 
course;  so  he  spent  part  of  the  day,  a  wonderful 
autumn  Sunday,  in  a  rocking-chair  on  the  piazza,  of 
the  hotel,  and  another  part  walking  with  Sylvia.  He 
told  her  of  the  murder  case  and  Hobart's  action, 
and  her  prompt  sympathy  was  aroused. 

"Suppose  he  should  really  be  innocent?"  she  said. 
"It  would  be  an  awful  thing  to  hang  an  innocent 
man." 

"So  it  would.     He  certainly  does  not  look  like  a 
199 


THE    CANDIDATE 

bad  fellow,  but  you  know  that  those  who  are  not 
bad  are  sometimes  guilty.  In  any  event  I  fail  to 
see  what  Hobart  can  do." 

After  the  walk,  which  was  all  too  brief,  he  returned 
to  his  rocking-chair  on  the  piazza,  but  Grayville,  being 
a  small  place,  he  knew  everything  that  was  going  on 
within  it,  by  means  of  a  sort  of  mental  telepathy 
that  the  born  correspondent  acquires.  He  knew, 
for  instance,  that  Hobart  was  all  the  time  with  one 
or  the  other  of  the  three  witnesses — Metzger,  Thorpe, 
or  Williams  —  for  the  moment  the  most  important 
persons  in  Grayville  by  reason  of  their  conspicuous 
connection  with  the  great  case. 

When  Hobart  returned,  the  edge  of  the  sun  was 
behind  the  highest  mountains ;  but  he  took  no  notice 
of  Harley,  walking  past  him  without  a  word  and 
burying  himself  somewhere  in  the  interior  of  the 
hotel.  Harley  learned  subsequently  that  he  went 
directly  to  Jimmy  Grayson's  room,  and  remained 
there  at  least  half  an  hour,  in  close  conference  with 
the  candidate  himself. 

The  next  day  was  a  break  in  the  great  campaign. 
Owing  to  train  connections,  which  are  not  trifles  in 
the  Far  West,  it  was  necessary,  in  order  to  complete 
the  schedule,  to  spend  an  idle  day  at  some  place,  and 
Grayville  had  been  selected  as  the  most  comfortable 
and  therefore  the  most  suitable.  And  so  the  lux 
urious  rest  of  the  group  was  continued  for  twenty- 
four  hours  for  all — save  Hobart. 

Harley  had  never  before  seen  the  "mystery"  man 
so  eager  and  so  full  of  suppressed  excitement.  He 
frequently  passed  his  comrades,  but  he  rarely  spoke 
to  them,  or  even  noticed  them;  his  mind  was  con 
centrated  now  upon  a  great  affair  in  which  they 
would  be  of  no  avail.  Harley  learned,  however,  that 

200 


THE    CANDIDATE 

he  was  still  much  in  the  company  of  the  three  wit 
nesses,  although  he  asked  him  no  questions.  Late 
in  the  afternoon  he  saw  him  alone  and  walking  rap 
idly  towards  the  hotel.  It  seemed  to  Harley  that 
Hobart's  head  was  borne  somewhat  high  and  in  a 
manner  exultantly,  as  if  he  were  overcoming  ob 
stacles,  and  he  was  about  to  ask  him  again  in  regard 
to  his  progress,  but  Hobart  once  more  sped  by  with 
out  a  word  and  went  into  the  hotel.  Harley  learned 
later  that  he  held  a  secret  conference  with  Jimmy 
Grayson. 

In  the  evening  everybody  went  to  the  opera- 
house  to  hear  the  candidate,  but  on  the  way  Hobart 
said,  casually,  to  Harley:  "Old  man,  I  don't  think 
I'll  sit  in  front  to-night.  I  wish  you  would  let  me 
have  your  notes  afterwards."  "Of  course,"  replied 
Harley,  as  he  passed  down  the  aisle  and  found  his 
chair  at  the  correspondents'  table  on  the  stage. 

There  Harley  watched  the  fine  Western  audience 
come  into  the  theatre  and  find  seats,  with  some  noise 
but  no  disorder,  a  noise  merely  of  men  calling  each 
other  by  name,  and  commenting  in  advance  on  what 
Jimmy  Grayson  would  say.  The  other  correspond 
ents  entered  one  by  one — all  except  Hobart,  and  took 
their  seats  on  the  stage.  Sylvia  and  Mrs.  Grayson 
were  with  some  ladies  in  a  box.  Harley  looked 
for  Hobart,  and  two  or  three  times  he  saw  him  near 
the  main  entrance  of  the  building.  Once  he  was 
talking  with  a  brown  and  longish-haired  youth,  and 
Harley,  by  casual  inquiry,  learned  that  it  was  Metz- 
ger,  the  cowboy.  A  man  not  greatly  different  in  ap 
pearance,  to  whom  Hobart  spoke  occasionally,  was 
Thorpe,  the  tramp  miner,  and  yet  another,  a  tall 
fellow  with  a  bulging  underlip,  Harley  learned,  was 
Williams,  the  third  witness. 

SOI 


THE    CANDIDATE 

Evidently  the  witnesses  would  attend  Jimmy  Gray- 
son's  meeting,  which  was  natural,  however,  as  every 
body  in  Grayville  was  sure  to  come,  and  Harley 
also  surmised  that  Hobart  had  taken  upon  himself 
the  task  of  instructing  them  as  to  the  methods, 
the  manner,  and  the  greatness  of  the  candidate.  He 
had  done  such  a  thing  himself,  upon  occasion,  the 
Western  interest  in  Jimmy  Grayson  being  so  great 
that  often  appeals  were  made  to  the  correspondents 
for  information  about  him  more  detailed  than  the 
newspapers  gave. 

Harley  studied  the  faces  of  the  three  witnesses  as 
attentively  as  the  distance  and  the  light  would  ad 
mit,  but  they  remained  near  the  door,  evidently  in 
tending  to  stand  there,  back  to  the  wall,  a  plan 
sometimes  adopted  by  those  who  may  wish  to  slip 
out  quietly  before  a  speech  is  finished.  Harley,  the 
trained  observer,  saw  that  Hobart,  without  their 
knowledge,  was  shepherding  them  as  the  shepherd 
gently  makes  his  sheep  converge  upon  a  common 
spot. 

The  correspondent  could  draw  no  inference  from 
the  faces  of  the  three  men,  which  were  all  of  usual 
Western  types,  without  anything  special  to  distin 
guish  them,  and  his  attention  turned  to  the  au 
dience.  He  had  received  an  intimation  that  Jimmy 
Grayson  intended  to  deliver  that  evening  a  speech  of 
unusual  edge  and  weight.  He  would  indict  the  other 
party  in  the  most  direct  and  forcible  manner,  point 
ing  out  that  its  sins  were  moral  as  well  as  political, 
but  that  a  day  of  reckoning  would  come,  when  those 
who  profited  by  such  evil  courses  must  pay  the  for 
feit;  it  was  a  part  of  the  law  of  nature,  which  was 
also  the  law  of  retribution. 

The  candidate  was  a  little  late,  and  the  opera- 
202 


THE   CANDIDATE 

house  was  filled  to  the  last  seat,  with  many  people 
standing  in  the  aisles  and  about  the  doors.  Harley, 
glancing  again  at  the  rows  and  rows  of  faces,  saw 
the  three  witnesses  almost  together,  and  just  to  the 
right  of  the  main  entrance,  where  they  leaned  against 
the  wall,  facing  the  stage.  Hobart  fluttered  about 
them,  holding  them  in  occasional  talk,  and  Harley 
was  just  about  to  look  again,  and  with  increasing 
attention,  but  at  that  instant  the  great  audience, 
with  a  common  impulse  and  a  kind  of  rushing  sound, 
like  the  slide  of  an  avalanche,  rose  to  its  feet.  The 
candidate,  coming  from  the  wings,  had  just  appeared 
upon  the  stage,  and  the  welcome  was  spontaneous 
and  overwhelming.  Jimmy  Grayson  was  always  a 
serious  man,  but  Harley  noticed  that  evening,  when 
he  first  appeared  before  the  footlights,  that  his  face 
looked  tense  and  eager,  as  if  he  felt  that  a  great  task 
which  he  must  assume  lay  just  before  him. 

He  wasted  no  time,  but  went  at  once  to  the  heart 
of  his  subject,  the  crime  of  a  great  party,  the  wicked 
ways  by  which  it  had  attained  its  wicked  ends,  and 
from  the  opening  sentence  he  had  his  big  audience 
with  him,  heart  and  soul. 

The  indictment  was  terrible :  in  a  masterly  way  he 
summed  up  the  charges  and  the  proof,  as  a  general 
marshals  his  forces  for  battle,  and  the  crowd,  so 
clear  were  his  words  and  so  strong  his  statements, 
could  see  them  all  marching  in  unison,  like  the  bat 
talions  and  brigades,  towards  the  common  point,  the 
exposed  centre  of  the  enemy.  The  faces  of  Sylvia 
and  Mrs.  Grayson,  in  the  box,  glowed  with  pride. 

Again  and  again,  at  the  pauses  between  sentences, 
the  cheers  of  the  audience  rose  and  echoed,  and  then 
Harley  would  glance  once  more  towards  the  door; 
there,  always,  he  saw  Hobart  with  the  three  wit- 

203 


THE    CANDIDATE 

nesses,  gathered  under  his  wing,  at  it  were,  all  look 
ing  raptly  and  intently  at  Jimmy  Grayson. 

The  candidate,  by-and-by,  seemed  to  concentrate 
his  attention  upon  the  four  men  at  the  door,  and 
spoke  directly  to  them.  Harley  saw  one  of  the 
group  move  as  if  about  to  leave,  but  the  hand  of 
Hobart  fell  upon  his  arm  and  he  stayed.  Harley, 
too,  was  conscious  presently  of  an  unusual  effect 
having  the  quality  of  weirdness.  The  lights  seemed 
to  go  down  in  the  whole  opera-house,  except  near 
the  door.  Jimmy  Grayson  and  the  correspondents 
were  in  a  semi-darkness,  but  Hobart  and  his  three 
new  friends  beside  the  door  stood  in  a  light  that  was 
almost  dazzling  through  contrast.  The  three  wit 
nesses  now  seemed  to  be  fixed  in  that  spot,  and  their 
eyes  never  wandered  from  Jimmy  Grayson's  face. 

Familiar  as  he  was  with  the  candidate's  oratorical 
powers,  Harley  was  surprised  at  his  strength  of  in 
vective  that  evening.  He  had  proved  the  guilt,  the 
overwhelming  guilt,  of  the  opposition  party,  and  he 
was  describing  the  punishment,  a  punishment  sure  to 
come,  although  many  might  deem  it  impossible: 

"But  there  would  be  a  day  of  judgment;  justice 
might  sleep  for  a  while,  but  she  must  awake  at  last, 
and,  the  longer  vengeance  was  delayed,  the  more  ter 
rible  it  became.  Then  woe  to  the  guilty." 

The  audience  was  deeply  impressed  by  the  elo 
quence  of  Jimmy  Grayson,  coinciding  so  well  with 
their  own  views.  Harley  saw  a  look  of  awe  appear 
upon  the  faces  of  many — Sylvia's  face  was  pale — 
and  the  house,  save  for  the  voice  of  Jimmy  Grayson, 
was  as  still  as  death.  Harley  felt  the  effect  himself, 
and  the  weird,  unreal  quality  that  he  observed  be 
fore  increased.  Once,  when  he  went  over  to  make 
some  notes,  he  noticed  that  the  words  written  a  half- 

204 


THE    CANDIDATE 

hour  before  were  scarcely  visible,  but,  when  he  glanced 
at  the  opposite  end  of  the  theatre,  there  stood  Hobart 
and  the  three  witnesses,  gathered  about  him,  in  the 
very  heart  of  a  dazzling  light  that  showed  every 
changing  look  on  the  faces  of  the  four.  Harley's  gaze 
lingered  upon  them,  and  again  he  tried  to  find  some 
thing  peculiar,  something  distinctive  in  at  least  one  of 
the  three  witnesses,  but,  as  before,  he  failed ;  they  were 
to  him  just  ordinary  Westerners  following  with  rapt 
attention  every  word  and  gesture  of  Jimmy  Grayson. 
The  candidate  went  on  with  his  story  of  the  con 
sequences  ;  the  crime  had  been  committed ;  the  profits 
had  been  reaped  and  enjoyed,  but  slumbering  jus 
tice,  awake  at  last,  was  at  hand;  it  was  time  for  the 
wicked  to  tremble,  the  price  must  be  repaid,  doubly, 
trebly,  fivefold.  Now  he  personified  the  guilty 
party,  the  opposition,  which  he  treated  as  an  individ 
ual;  he  compared  it  to  a  man  who  had  committed  a 
deed  of  horror,  but  who  long  had  hidden  his  crime 
from  the  world;  others  might  be  suspected  of  it, 
others  might  be  punished  for  it,  but  he  could  never 
forget  that  he  himself  was  guilty;  though  he  walked 
before  the  world  innocent,  the  sense  of  it  would  al 
ways  be  there,  it  would  not  leave  him  night  or  day; 
every  moment,  even,  before  the  full  exposure  it  would 
be  inflicting  its  punishment  upon  him;  it  would  be 
useless  to  seek  escape  or  to  think  of  it,  because  the 
longer  the  guilty  victim  struggled  the  more  crushing 
his  punishment  would  be.  The  correspondents  for 
got  to  write,  and,  like  the  audience,  hung  upon  every 
word  and  gesture  of  Jimmy  Grayson,  as  he  made  his 
great  denunciatory  speech;  they  felt  that  he  was 
stirred  by  something  unusual,  that  some  great  and 
extraordinary  motive  was  impelling  him,  and  they 
followed  eagerly  where  he  led  them. 

205 


THE    CANDIDATE 

Harley  saw  the  look  of  awe  on  the  faces  of  the 
audience  grow  and  deepen.  With  their  overwhelm 
ing  admiration  of  Jimmy  Gray  son,  they  seemed  to 
have  conceived,  too,  a  sudden  fear  of  him.  His  long, 
accusing  finger  was  shaken  in  their  faces,  he  was  not 
alone  denouncing  a  guilty  man,  but  he  was  seeking 
out  their  own  hidden  sins,  and  presently  he  would 
point  at  them  his  revealing  finger. 

Hobart  stood  with  the  three  witnesses  beside  the 
door,  still  in  the  dazzling  light.  Harley  was  sure  that 
not  one  of  the  four  had  moved  in  the  last  half-hour, 
and  Jimmy  Gray  son  still  held  them  all  with  his  gaze. 
Harley  suddenly  saw  something  like  a  flash  of  light, 
a  signal  glance,  as  it  were,  pass  between  him  and 
Hobart,  and  the  next  instant  the  voice  of  the  candi 
date  swelled  into  greater  and  more  accusing  volume. 

"Now  you  behold  the  guilty  man!"  said  Jimmy 
Grayson.  "  I  have  shown  him  to  you.  He  seems  to 
the  world  full  of  pride  and  power,  but  he  knows  that 
justice  is  pursuing  him,  and  that  it  will  overtake  him ; 
he  trembles,  he  cowers,  he  flees,  but  the  avenging 
footsteps  are  behind  him,  and  the  sound  of  them 
rings  in  his  frightened  ears  like  a  death-knell  to  his 
soul.  A  wall  rises  across  his  way.  He  can  flee  no 
farther;  he  turns  back  from  the  wall,  raises  his  terror- 
stricken  eyes,  and  there  before  him  the  hand  of  fate 
is  raised ;  its  finger  points  at  him,  and  a  terrible  voice 
proclaims,  'Thou  art  the  guilty  man!"1 

The  form  of  Jimmy  Grayson  swelled  and  towered, 
his  hand  was  raised,  the  long  forefinger  pointed  direct 
ly  at  the  four  who  stood  in  the  dazzling  light,  and  the 
hall  resounded  with  the  tremendous  echoes  of  his  cry, 
"Thou  art  the  guilty  man!" 

As  if  lifted  by  a  common  impulse,  the  great  au 
dience  rose  with  an  indescribable  sound  and  faced 

206 


THE    CANDIDATE 

about,    following   Jimmy    Grayson's    long,    accusing 
finger. 

The  man  Williams  threw  his  arm  before  his  face, 
as  if  to  protect  himself,  and,  with  a  terrible  cry, 
"Yes,  I  did  it!"  fell  in  a  faint  on  the  floor. 

They  were  all  on  the  train  the  next  day,  and  Har- 
ley  was  reading  from  a  copy  of  the  Grayville  Argus 
an  account  of  Boyd's  release  and  the  ovation  that 
the  people  had  given  him. 

"How  did  you  trace  the  crime  to  Williams,  Ho- 
bart?"  asked  Harley. 

"I  didn't  trace  it;  it  was  Jimmy  Gray  son  who 
brought  it  out  by  giving  him  'the  third  degree,'" 
replied  Hobart,  though  there  was  a  quiet  tone  of 
satisfied  pride  in  his  voice.  "You  know  that  in  New 
York,  when  they  expose  a  man  at  Police  Headquar 
ters  to  some  such  supreme  test,  they  call  it  giving 
him  'the  third  degree,'  and  that's  what  we  did  here. 
It  seems  that  Williams  was  in  the  saloon  when  Boyd 
and  his  partner  quarrelled,  and  he  knew  they  had  a 
lot  of  gold  from  the  claim  in  their  cabin.  His  object 
was  robbery.  When  he  saw  Wofford  go  on  ahead, 
he  followed  him  quickly  to  the  cabin,  and  killed  him 
with  the  knife  which  lay  on  a  table.  He  expected  to 
have  time  to  get  the  gold  before  Boyd  came,  but 
Boyd  arrived  so  soon  that  he  was  barely  able  to  slip 
out.  Then  Williams,  cunning  and  bold  enough, 
came  back  as  if  he  were  a  chance  passer-by,  and  had 
been  called  by  Metzger  and  Thorpe.  The  other  two 
were  as  innocent  as  you  or  I. 

"I  could  not  make  up  my  mind  which  of  the  three 
was  guilty,  and  I  induced  Jimmy  Gray  son  to  help  me. 
It  was  right  in  line  with  his  speech — no  harm  done 
even  if  the  test  had  failed — and  then  the  man  who 

207 


THE    CANDIDATE 

managed  the  lights  at  the  opera-house,  a  friend  of 
Boyd's,  helped  me  with  the  stage  effects.  Jimmy 
Grayson,  of  course,  knew  nothing  about  that.  I 
borrowed  the  idea.  I  have  read  somewhere  that 
Aaron  Burr  by  just  such  a  device  once  convicted  a 
guilty  man  who  was  present  in  court  as  a  witness 
when  another  was  being  tried  for  the  crime." 

"Well,  you  have  saved  his  life  to  an  innocent  man," 
said  Harley. 

"And  I  have  cost  a  guilty  one  his."  And  then, 
after  a  moment's  pause,  Hobart  added,  with  a  little 
shiver: 

"But  I  wouldn't  go  through  such  an  ordeal  again 
at  any  price.  When  Jimmy  Grayson  thundered  out, 
'Thou  art  the  guilty  man,'  it  was  all  I  could  do  to 
keep  from  crying,  'Yes,  I  am,  I  ami'" 


XIV 

THE    DEAD    CITY 

A 5  they  left  the  hall,  Churchill  overtook  Harley 
and  tapped  him  on  the  shoulder.  Harley  turn 
ed  and  saw  an  expression  of  supreme  disgust  on  the 
face  of  the  Monitor's  correspondent,  but  Harley  him 
self  only  felt  amusement.  He  knew  that  Churchill 
meant  attack. 

"I  never  saw  anything  more  theatrical  and  ill- 
timed,"  said  Churchill.  "Of  course,  it  was  all  pre 
arranged  in  some  manner.  But  the  idea  of  a  Presi 
dential  nominee  taking  such  a  risk!" 

"He  has  saved  an  innocent  man's  life,  and  I  call 
that  no  small  achievement." 

"Because  the  trick  was  successful;  but  it  was  a 
trick,  all  the  same,  and  it  was  beneath  the  dignity  of 
a  Presidential  nominee." 

"There  was  but  little  risk  of  any  kind,"  said  Har 
ley,  shortly,  "and  even  had  it  been  larger,  it  would 
have  been  right  to  take  it,  when  the  stake  was  a 
man's  life.  Churchill,  you  are  hunting  for  faults, 
you  know  you  are,  or  you  would  not  be  so  quick  to 
see  them." 

Churchill  made  no  audible  reply,  but  Harley  could 
see  that  he  was  unconvinced,  and,  in  fact,  he  sent 
his  newspaper  a  lurid  despatch  about  it,  taking 
events  out  of  their  proper  proportion,  and  hence  giv 
ing  to  them  a  wholly  unjustifiable  conclusion.  But 
14  209 


THE    CANDIDATE 

Sylvia  Morgan  was  devotedly  loyal  to  her  uncle. 
There  were  few  deeds  of  his  of  which  she  approved 
more  warmly  than  this  of  saving  Boyd's  life,  and 
Hobart,  the  master  spirit  in  it,  she  thanked  in  a  way 
that  made  him  turn  red  with  pleasure.  But  the 
discussion  of  the  whole  affair  was  brief,  because  fast 
upon  its  heels  trod  another  event  which  stirred  them 
yet  more  deeply. 

When  the  special  train  was  at  Blue  Earth,  in 
Montana,  among  the  high  mountains,  there  came  to 
Jimmy  Grayson  an  appeal,  compounded  of  pathos 
and  despair,  that  he  could  not  resist.  It  was  from 
the  citizens  of  Crow's  Wing,  forty  miles  deeper  into 
the  yet  higher  and  steeper  mountains,  and  they  re 
counted,  in  mournful  words,  how  no  candidate  ever 
came  to  see  them;  all  passed  them  by  as  either  too 
few  or  too  difficult,  and  they  had  never  yet  listened 
to  the  spell  of  oratory;  of  course,  they  did  not  ex 
pect  the  nominee  of  a  great  party  for  the  Presidency 
of  the  United  States  to  make  the  hard  trip  and  speak 
to  them,  when  even  the  little  fellows  ignored  their 
existence;  nevertheless,  they  wished  to  inform  him 
in  writing  that  they  were  alive,  and  on  the  map,  at 
least,  they  made  as  big  a  dot  as  either  Helena  or  Butte. 

The  candidate  smiled  when  he  read  the  letter. 
The  tone  of  it  moved  him.  Moreover,  he  was  not 
deficient  in  policy — no  man  who  rises  is — and  while 
Crow's  Wing  had  but  few  votes,  Montana  was  close, 
and  a  single  state  might  -decide  the  Union. 

"Those  people  at  Crow's  Wing  do  not  expect  me, 
but  I  shall  go  to  them,"  he  said  to  his  train. 

"Why,  it's  a  full  day's  journey  and  more,  over 
the  roughest  and  rockiest  road  in  America,"  said 
Mr.  Curtis,  the  state  senator  from  Wyoming,  who 
was  still  with  them. 

2IO 


THE    CANDIDATE 

"I  shall  go,"  said  Jimmy  Grayson,  decisively. 
"There  is  a  break  here  in  our  schedule,  and  this  trip 
will  fit  in  very  nicely." 

The  others  were  against  it,  but  they  said  nothing 
more  in  opposition,  knowing  that  it  would  be  of 
no  avail.  Obliging,  generous,  and  soft-hearted,  the 
candidate,  nevertheless,  had  a  temper  of  steel  when 
his  mind  was  made  up,  and  the  others  had  learned 
not  to  oppose  it.  But  all  shunned  the  journey  with 
him  to  Crow's  Wing  except  Harley,  Mr.  Plummer, 
Mr.  Herbert  Heathcote — because  there  is  no  zeal  like 
that  of  the  converted — and  one  other. 

That  "other"  was  Sylvia,  and  she  insisted  upon 
going,  refusing  to  listen  to  all  the  good  arguments 
that  were  brought  against  it.  "I  know  that  I  am 
only  a  woman — a  girl,"  she  said,  "but  I  know,  too, 
that  I've  lived  all  my  life  in  the  mountains,  and  I 
understand  them.  Why,  I've  been  on  harder  jour 
neys  than  this  with  daddy  before  I  was  twelve  years 
old.  Haven't  I,  daddy?"  As  she  had  predicted,  she 
forgot  his  request  not  to  call  him  "daddy." 

Thus  appealed  to,  Mr.  Plummer  was  fain  to  con 
fess  the  truth,  though  with  reluctance.  However, 
he  said,  rather  weakly: 

"But  you  don't  know  what  kind  of  weather  we'll 
have,  Sylvia." 

Then  she  turned  upon  him  in  a  manner  that  ter 
rified  him. 

"Now,  daddy,  if  I  couldn't  get  up  a  better  argu 
ment  than  that  I'd  quit,"  she  said.  "Weather! 
weather!  weather!  to  an  Idaho  girl!  Suppose  it 
should  rain,  I'm  made  of  neither  sugar  nor  salt,  and 
I  won't  melt.  I've  been  rained  on  a  thousand  times. 
Aunt  Anna  says  I  may  go  if  Uncle  James  is  willing, 
and  he's  willing — he  has  to  be;  besides,  he's  my 

211 


THE    CANDIDATE 

chaperon.  If  you  don't  say  'yes,'  Uncle  James,  I 
shall  take  the  train  and  go  straight  home." 

They  were  forced  to  consent,  and  Harley  was  glad 
that  she  insisted,  because  he  liked  to  know  that  she 
was  near,  and  he  thought  that  she  looked  wonder 
fully  well  on  horseback. 

The  going  of  Harley  with  the  candidate  was  taken 
as  a  matter  of  course  by  everybody.  Silent,  tactful, 
and  strong,  he  had  grown  almost  imperceptibly  into 
a  confidential  relationship  with  the  nominee,  and 
Mr.  Grayson  did  not  realize  how  much  he  relied  upon 
the  quiet  man  who  could  not  make  a  speech  but 
who  was  so  ready  of  resource.  As  for  Mr.  Heath  cote, 
being  an  Easterner,  he  wished  to  see  the  West  in  all 
its  aspects. 

They  started  at  daybreak,  guided  by  a  taciturn 
mountaineer,  Jim  Jones,  called  simply  Jim  for  the 
sake  of  brevity,  and,  the  hour  being  so  early,  few 
were  present  to  see  them  ride  up  the  hanging  slope 
and  into  the  mighty  wilderness. 

But  it  was  a  glorious  dawn.  The  young  sun  was 
gilding  the  sea  of  crags  and  crests  with  burnished  gold 
and  the  air  had  the  sparkle  of  youth.  Mr.  Heath- 
cote  threw  back  his  slightly  narrow  chest,  and,  draw 
ing  three  deep  breaths  of  just  the  same  length,  he 
said, "  I  would  not  miss  this  trip  for  a  thousand  dollars!" 

"And  I  wouldn't  for  two  thousand!"  exclaimed 
Sylvia,  joyously. 

Harley  said  nothing,  but  he,  too,  looked  out  upon 
the  morning  world  with  a  kindling  eye.  Far  below 
them  was  a  narrow  valley,  a  faint  green  line  down 
the  centre  showing  where  the  little  river  ran,  with  the 
irrigated  farms  on  either  side,  like  beads  on  a  string. 
Above  them  towered  the  peaks,  white  with  everlast 
ing  snow. 


THE    CANDIDATE 

"A  fine  day  for  our  ride,"  said  the  candidate  to 
Jim. 

"Looks  like  it  now,  though  I  never  gamble  on 
mountain  weather,"  replied  the  taciturn  man. 

But  the  promise  held  good  for  a  long  time,  the 
sun  still  shining  and  the  winds  coming  fresh  and 
brisk  along  the  crests  and  ridges.  The  trail  wound 
about  the  slopes  and  steadily  ascended.  Vegetation 
ceased,  and  before  them  stretched  the  bare  rocks. 
Harley  knew  very  well  now  that  only  the  sunshine 
saved  them  from  grimness  and  desolation.  The 
loneliness  became  oppressive.  Even  Sylvia  was 
silent.  It  was  the  wilderness  in  reality  as  well  as 
seeming;  nowhere  did  they  see  a  miner's  hut  or 
a  hunter's  cabin,  only  nature  in  her  most  savage 
form. 

The  little  group  of  horsemen  forgot  to  talk.  The 
candidate's  head  was  bowed  and  his  brow  bent. 
Clearly  he  was  immersed  in  thought.  Mr.  Heath- 
cote,  unused  to  such  arduous  journeys,  leaned  for 
ward  in  his  saddle  in  a  state  of  semi-exhaustion. 
But  Sylvia,  although  a  girl,  was  accustomed  to  the 
mountains,  and  she  showed  few  signs  of  fatigue.  Har 
ley  said  at  last  to  the  guide,  "A  wild  country,  one 
of  the  wildest,  I  think,  that  I  ever  saw." 

"Yes,  a  wild  country,  and  a  bad  'un,  too,"  re 
sponded  Jim.  "See  off  there  to  the  left?" 

He  pointed  to  a  maze  of  bare  and  rocky  ridges, 
and  when  he  saw  that  Harley 's  gaze  was  following 
his  long  forefinger,  he  continued: 

"I  say  it's  a  bad  'un,  because  over  there  Red  Per 
kins  and  his  gang  of  horse-thieves,  outlaws,  and  cut 
throats  used  to  have  their  hiding-place.  It's  a  tan 
gled  -  up  stretch  o'  mountain,  so  wild,  so  rocky,  so 
full  of  caves  that  they  could  have  hid  there  till 


THE   CANDIDATE 

jedgment-day  from  all  Montana.     Yes,  that's  where 
they  used  to  hang  out." 

"Used  to?" 

"Yes,  'cause  I  'ain't  heard  much  uv  them  fur  some 
time.  They  came  down  in  the  valley  and  tried  to 
stampede  them  new  blooded  horses  from  Kentucky 
on  Sifton's  ranch,  but  Sifton  and  his  men  was  waitin', 
and  when  the  smoke  cleared  off  most  uv  the  gang 
was  wiped  out.  Red  and  two  or  three  uv  his  fellers 
got  away,  but  I  'ain't  heard  uv  'em  since.  Guess 
they've  scattered." 

"Wisest  thing  they  could  do,"  said  Harley. 

The  guide  made  no  answer,  and  they  plodded  on 
in  silence  until  about  two  o'clock  in  the  afternoon, 
when  they  stopped  in  a  little  cove  to  eat  luncheon 
and  refresh  their  horses. 

It  was  the  first  grateful  spot  they  had  seen  in 
hours.  A  brook  fed  by  the  snows  above  formed  a 
pool  in  the  hollow,  and  then,  overflowing  it,  dropped 
down  the  mountain  -  wall.  But  in  this  sheltered 
nook  and  around  the  life-giving  water  green  grass 
was  growing,  and  there  was  a  rim  of  goodly  trees. 
The  horses,  when  their  riders  dismounted,  grazed 
eagerly,  and  the  riders  themselves  lay  upon  the  grass 
and  ate  with  deep  content. 

Sylvia  talked  little.  She  seemed  thoughtful,  and, 
when  neither  of  them  was  looking,  she  glanced  now 
and  then  at  Harley  and  "King"  Plummer.  Had 
they  noticed  they  would  have  seen  a  shade  of  sad 
ness  on  her  face.  Mr.  Plummer  did  not  speak,  and 
it  was  because  there  was  a  growing  anxiety  in  his 
mind.  He  was  sorry  now  that  they  had  let  Sylvia 
come,  and  he  silently  called  himself  a  weak  fool. 

"Shall  we  reach  Crow's  Wing  by  dark?"  asked  the 
candidate  of  the  guide. 

214 


THE   CANDIDATE 

Jim  had  risen,  and,  standing  at  the  edge  of  the 
cove,  was  gazing  out  over  the  rolling  sea  of  moun 
tains.  Harley  noticed  a  troubled  look  on  his  face. 

"If  things  go  right  we  kin,"  he  replied,  "but  I 
ain't  shore  that  things  will  go  right." 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"Do  you  see  that  brown  spot  down  there  in  the 
southwest,  just  a-top  the  hills?  Waal,  it's  a  cloud, 
an'  it's  comin'  this  way.  Clouds,  you  know,  always 
hev  somethin'  in  'em." 

"That  is  to  say  we  shall  have  rain,"  said  the  can 
didate.  "Let  it  come.  We  have  been  rained  on 
too  often  to  mind  such  a  little  thing — eh,  Sylvia? 
You  see,  I  take  you  at  your  word." 

The  girl  nodded. 

"  I  don't  think  it  '11  be  rain,"  said  the  guide.  "We 
are  so  high  up  here  that  more  'n  likely  it  '11  be  snow. 
An'  when  there's  a  snow-storm  in  the  mountains  you 
can't  go  climbin" along  the  side  o'  cliffs." 

The  others,  too,  looked  grave  now.  Perhaps,  with 
the  exception  of  "King"  Plummer,  they  had  not 
foreseen  such  a  difficulty,  but  the  guide  came  to  their 
relief  with  more  cheering  words — after  all,  the  cloud 
might  not  continue  to  grow,  "an'  it  ain't  worth  while 
to  holler  afore  we're  hit." 

This  seemed  sound  philosophy  to  the  others,  and, 
dismissing  their  cares,  they  started  again,  much  re 
freshed  by  their  stop  in  the  little  cove.  The  road 
now  grew  rougher,  the  guide  leading  and  the  rest  fol 
lowing  in  single  -  file,  Sylvia  just  ahead  of  Harley. 
By -and -by  their  cares  returned.  Harley  glanced 
towards  the  southwest  and  saw  there  the  same  cloud, 
but  now  much  bigger,  blacker,  and  more  threaten 
ing.  The  sunshine  was  gone,  and  the  wrinkled  sur 
face  of  the  mountains  was  gray  and  sombre.  The 

215 


THE    CANDIDATE 

air  had  grown  cold,  and  down  among  the  clefts  there 
was  a  weird,  moaning  wind.  Harley  glanced  at  the 
guide,  and  noticed  that  his  face  was  now  decidedly 
anxious.  But  the  correspondent  said  nothing.  Part 
of  his  strength  lay  in  his  ability  to  wait,  and  he  knew 
that  the  guide  would  speak  in  good  time. 

"  Don't  any  of  you  be  discouraged  because  of  me," 
said  Sylvia;  "I'm  not  afraid  of  storms — even  snow 
storms.  Am  I  not  a  good  mountaineer,  daddy?" 

The  "King"  nodded  his  head.  He  knew  that  she 
was  a  better  mountaineer  than  any  in  the  party  ex 
cept  the  guide  and  himself,  and  he  felt  less  alarm  for 
her  than  was  in  the  mind  of  Gray  son  or  Harley. 

But  Harley  was  thrilled  by  her  courage.  Here, 
amid  these  wild  mountains,  with  the  threat  of  dark 
ness  and  the  storm,  she  was  unafraid  and  still  fem 
inine.  "This  is  a  woman  to  be  won,"  was  his  un- 
uttered  thought. 

Another  hour  passed,  and  the  air  grew  darker  and 
colder.  Then  Jim  stopped. 

"Gentlemen,"  he  said,  "there's  a  snow-storm  corn- 
in*  soon.  I  didn't  expect  one  so  early,  even  on  the 
mountains,  but  it's  comin',  anyhow,  an'  if  we  keep 
on  for  Crow's  Wing  they'll  have  to  dig  our  bones  out 
o'  the  meltin*  drifts  next  summer.  We've  got  to 
make  for  Queen  City." 

"Queen  City!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Heathcote.  "I 
didn't  know  there  was  another  town  anywhere  near 
here." 

"She's  a-standin'  all  the  same,"  replied  the  guide, 
brusquely,  "an'  I  wouldn't  never  hev  started  on  the 
trip  to  Crow's  Wing  if  there  hadn't  been  such  a  stop- 
pin'-place  betwixt  an'  between,  in  case  o'  trouble 
with  the  weather.  An'  let  me  whisper  to  you,  Queen 
City's  quite  a  sizable  place.  We'll  pass  the  night 

216 


THE    CANDIDATE 

there.  It's  got  a  fine  hotel,  the  finest  an'  biggest  in 
the  mountains." 

He  looked  grimly  at  Mr.  Heathcote,  as  much  as  to 
say,  "Ask  me  as  much  more  as  you  please,  but  I'll 
answer  you  nothing."  Then  he  added,  glancing  at 
Sylvia: 

"It's  a  wild  night  for  a  gal." 

"But  you  said  that  the  biggest  and  finest  hotel  in 
the  mountains  was  waiting  for  me,"  replied  Sylvia, 
with  spirit. 

The  guide  bowed  his  head  admiringly,  and  said 
no  more. 

Something  cold  and  damp  touched  Harley's  cheek. 
He  looked  up,  and  another  flake  of  snow,  descending 
softly,  settled  upon  his  face.  The  clouds  rolled  over 
them,  heavy  and  dark,  and  shut  out  all  the  moun 
tains  save  a  little  island  where  they  stood.  The 
snow,  following  the  first  few  flakes,  fell  softly  but 
rapidly. 

"It's  Queen  City  or  moulderin'  in  the  drifts  till 
next  summer!"  cried  Jim,  and  he  turned  his  horse 
into  a  side-path.  The  others  followed  without  a 
word,  willing  to  accept  his  guidance  through  the 
greatest  peril  they  had  yet  faced  in  an  arduous  cam 
paign.  Despite  the  danger,  which  he  knew  to  be 
heavy  and  pressing,  and  his  anxiety  for  Sylvia,  Har 
ley's  curiosity  was  aroused,  and  he  wished  to  ask 
more  of  Queen  City,  but  the  saturnine  face  of  the 
guide  was  not  inviting.  Nevertheless,  he  risked  one 
question. 

"How  far  is  this  place,  Queen  City?"  he  asked. 

"'Bout  two  miles,"  replied  Jim,  with  what  seemed 
to  Harley  a  derisive  grin,  "an'  it's  tarnal  lucky  for 
us  that  it's  so  near." 

Harley  said  no  more,  but  he  was  satisfied  with 
217 


THE    CANDIDATE 

nothing  in  the  guide's  reply  save  the  fact  that  the 
town  was  only  two  miles  away;  any  shelter  would  be 
welcome,  because  he  saw  now  that  a  snow-storm  on 
the  wild  mountains  was  a  terrible  thing. 

The  guide  led  on;  Jimmy  Grayson,  with  bent  head, 
followed;  Mr.  Heathcote,  shrunk  in  his  saddle,  came 
next;  then  "King"  Plummer;  and  after  him  Sylvia 
and  Harley,  who  were  as  nearly  side  by  side  as  the 
narrow  path  would  permit. 

"It  won't  be  far,  Miss  Morgan,"  said  Harley;  the 
others  could  not  hear. 

She  felt  rather  than  heard  the  note  of  apprehension 
in  his  voice,  and  she  knew  it  was  for  her.  A  thrill  of 
singular  sweetness  passed  over  her.  It  was  pleasant 
for  some  one,  the  one,  to  be  afraid  for  her  sake.  She 
looked  out  at  the  driving  snow  and  the  dim  peaks, 
but  she  had  no  fear  for  herself.  She  was  glad,  too, 
that  she  had  come. 

"I  know  the  way  of  the  mountains,"  she  replied. 
"The  guide  will  take  us  in  safety  to  this  city  of  his, 
of  which  he  speaks  so  highly." 

Harley  saw  her  smile  through  the  snow.  The 
others  rode  on  before,  heads  bowed,  and  did  not 
look  back.  He  and  she  felt  a  powerful  sense  of 
comradeship,  and  once,  when  he  leaned  over  to  de 
tach  her  bridle  rein  from  the  horse's  mane,  he  touch 
ed  her  hand,  which  was  so  soft  and  warm.  Again 
the  electric  thrill  passed  through  them  both,  and 
they  looked  into  each  other's  eyes. 

Now  and  then  the  vast  veil  of  snow  parted  before 
the  wind,  as  if  cleft  down  the  centre  by  a  sword- 
blade,  and  Harley  and  Sylvia  beheld  a  grand  and 
awful  sight.  Before  them  were  all  the  peaks  and 
ridges,  rising  in  white  cones  and  pillars  against  the 
cloudy  sky,  and  the  effect  was  of  distance  and  sub- 

218 


THE    CANDIDATE 

limity.  From  the  clefts  and  ravines  came  a  deso 
late  moaning.  Harley  felt  that  he  was  much  nearer 
to  the  eternal  here  than  he  could  ever  be  in  the 
plains.  Then  the  rent  veil  would  close  again,  and 
he  saw  only  his  comrades  and  the  rocks  twenty  feet 
away. 

They  turned  around  the  base  of  a  cliff  rising  hun 
dreds  of  feet  above  them,  and  Harley  caught  the  dull- 
red  glare  of  brick  walls,  showing  through  the  falling 
snow.  He  was  ready  to  raise  a  shout  of  joy.  This 
he  knew  was  Queen  City,  lying  snugly  in  its  wide 
valley.  There  was  the  typical,  single  mountain 
street,  with  its  row  of  buildings  on  either  side;  the 
big  one  near-by  was  certainly  the  hotel,  and  the 
other  big  one  farther  on  was  as  certainly  the  opera- 
house.  But  nobody  was  in  the  streets,  and  the 
whole  place  was  dark ;  not  a  light  appeared  at  a  single 
window,  although  the  night  had  come. 

"We're  here,"  Harley  said  to  Sylvia,  "but  I  con 
fess  that  this  does  not  look  promising.  Certainly 
there  is  nobody  running  to  meet  us." 

She  was  gazing  with  curiosity. 

"It's  like  no  other  town  that  I  ever  saw,"  she  said. 

Harley  rode  up  by  the  side  of  the  guide. 

"The  place  looks  lonesome,"  he  said. 

"Maybe  they've  all  gone  to  bed;  there  ain't  any- 
thin'  here  to  keep  'em  awake,"  replied  the  guide, 
with  the  old  puzzling  and  derisive  smile. 

Harley  turned  coldly  away.  He  did  not  like  to 
have  any  one  make  fun  of  him.  and  that  he  saw  clearly 
was  the  guide's  intention.  Jimmy  Grayson  was  still 
thinking  of  things  far  off,  and  Mr.  Heathcote,  chilled 
and  shrunk,  seemed  to  have  lost  the  power  of  speech. 
"King"  Plummer,  for  reasons  of  his  own,  was  silent 
too. 

219 


THE    CANDIDATE 

The  guide  rode  slowly  towards  the  large  brick 
building  that  Harley  took  to  be  the  hotel,  and,  at 
that  moment,  the  snow  slackened  for  a  little  while; 
the  last  rays  of  the  setting  sun  struck  upon  the  dun 
walls  and  gilded  them  with  red  tracery ;  some  panes 
of  glass  gave  back  the  ruddy  glare,  but  mostly  the 
windows  were  bare  and  empty,  like  eyeless  sockets. 
Harley  looked  farther,  and  all  the  other  buildings — 
the  opera-house,  the  stores,  and  the  residences — 
were  the  same,  desolate  and  decaying.  About  the 
place  were  snow-covered  heaps,  evidently  the  refuse 
of  mining  operations,  but  they  saw  no  human  being. 

The  effect  upon  all  save  the  guide  was  startling. 
Harley  saw  the  look  of  chilled  wonder  grow  on  Jim 
my  Grayson's  face.  Mr.  Heathcote  raised  himself  in 
his  saddle  and  stared,  uncomprehending.  Harley 
had  been  deep  in  the  desert,  but  never  before  had 
he  seen  such  desolation  and  ruin,  because  here  was 
the  body,  but  all  life  had  gone  from  it.  He  felt  as 
one  alone  with  ghosts.  Sylvia  was  silent,  her  con 
fidence  gone  for  the  moment.  The  guide  laughed 
dryly. 

"  You  guessed  it,"  he  said,  looking  at  Harley.  "  It's 
a  dead  city.  Queen  City  has  been  as  dead  as  Adam 
these  half-dozen  years.  When  the  mines  played  out, 
it  died ;  there  was  no  earthly  use  for  Queen  City  any 
longer,  and  by  -  and  -  by  everybody  went  away.  But 
I've  seen  the  old  town  when  it  was  alive.  Five 
thousand  people  here.  Money  a-flowin',  drinks  pass- 
in'  over  the  counter  one  way  and  the  coin  the  other, 
the  gamblin'-houses  an'  the  theatre  chock-full,  an' 
women,  any  kind  you  please.  .  But  there  ain't  a  soul 
left  now." 

The  snow  thinned  still  more,  and  the  buildings 
rose  before  them  gaunt  and  grim. 

220 


THE    CANDIDATE 

"We'll  stop  to-night  at  the  Grand  Hotel — that  is, 
if  they  ain't  too  much  crowded ;  it  '11  be  nice  for  the 
lady,"  said  the  guide,  who  had  had  his  little  joke 
and  who  now  wished  to  serve  his  employers  as  best 
he  could;  "but  first  we'll  take  the  horses  into  the 
dinin'-room;  nobody  will  object;  I've  done  it  afore." 

He  rode  towards  a  side -door,  but  over  the  main 
entrance  Harley  saw  in  tessellated  letters  the  words 
"Grand  Hotel,"  and  he  tried  to  shake  off  the  feeling 
of  weirdness  that  it  gave  him. 

The  door  to  the  dining-room,  which  was  almost 
level  with  the  ground,  was  gone,  and  with  some  driv 
ing  the  horses  were  persuaded  to  enter.  They  were 
tethered  there,  sheltered  from  the  storm,  and,  when 
they  moved,  their  feet  rumbled  hollowly  on  the  wood 
en  floor.  Sylvia,  the  candidate,  and  his  friends, 
driven  by  the  same  impulse,  turned  back  into  the 
snow  and  re-entered  the  house  by  the  front  door. 

They  passed  into  a  wide  hall,  and  at  the  far  end 
they  saw  the  clerk's  desk.  Lying  upon  it  were  some 
fragments  of  paper  fastened  to  a  chain,  and  Harley 
knew  that  it  was  what  was  left  of  the  hotel  register. 
It  spoke  so  vividly  of  both  life  and  death  that  the 
five  stopped. 

"Would  you  like  to  register,  Mr.  Grayson?"  asked 
Harley,  wishing  to  relieve  the  tension. 

The  candidate  laughed  mirthlessly. 

"Not  to-night,  Harley,"  he  said;  "but,  gloomy  as 
the  place  is,  we  ought  to  be  thankful  that  we  have 
found  it.  See  how  the  storm  is  rising." 

He  glanced  at  Sylvia,  and  deep  gratitude  swelled 
up  in  his  breast.  Grewsome  as  it  might  look,  Queen 
City  was  now,  indeed,  a  place  of  refuge.  But  he  had 
no  word  of  reproach  for  her,  because  she  had  insisted 
upon  coming.  He  knew  that  a  snow-storm  had  not 

221 


THE   CANDIDATE 

entered  into  her  calculations,  as  it  had  not  entered 
into  his,  and,  moreover,  no  one  in  the  party  had 
shown  more  courage  or  better  spirits. 

The  snow  drove  in  at  the  unsheltered  windows, 
and  a  long  whine  arose  as  the  wind  whirled  around 
the  old  house.  The  guide  came  in  with  cheerful 
bustle  and  stamp  of  feet. 

"Don't  linger  here,  gentlemen  and  ladies,"  he  said. 
"The  house  is  yours.  Come  into  the  parlor.  We've 
had  a  piece  of  luck.  Now  and  then  a  lone  tramp  or 
a  miner  seeks  shelter  in  this  town,  just  as  we  have 
done;  they  come  mostly  to  the  hotel,  and  some  feller 
who  gathered  up  wood  failed  to  burn  it  all.  I'll 
have  a  fire  in  the  parlor  in  five  minutes,  and  then  we 
can  ring  for  hot  drinks  for  the  men,  a  lemonade  for 
the  lady,  and  a  warm  dinner  for  all.  I'll  take  straight 
whiskey,  an'  after  that  I  ain't  partic'ler  whether  I 
get  patty-de-foy-graw  or  hummin'-bird  tongues." 

His  good-humor  was  infectious,  and  they  were 
thankful,  too,  for  the  shelter,  desolate  though  the 
place  was.  All  the  wood  had  been  stripped  away 
except  the  floors,  and  the  brick  walls  were  bare.  In 
the  great  parlor  they  had  nothing  to  sit  on  save  their 
saddles,  but  it  was  a  noble  apartment,  many  feet 
square,  built  for  a  time  when  there  was  life  in  Queen 
City. 

"I've  heard  the  Governor  of  Montana  speak  to 
more  than  two  hundred  people  in  this  very  room," 
said  Jim,  reminiscently.  "He  was  to  have  spoke  in 
the  public  square,  but  snow  come  up,  an'  Bill  Fos- 
dick,  who  run  the  hotel,  and  run  her  wide  open,  in 
vited  'em  all  right  in  here,  an'  they  come." 

Harley  could  well  believe  it,  knowing,  as  he  did, 
the  miners  and  the  mountains,  and,  by  report,  early 
Montana. 

222 


THE    CANDIDATE 

At  one  end  of  the  room  was  an  immense  grate,  and 
in  this  Jim  heaped  the  wood  so  generously  left  by 
the  unknown  tramp  or  miner,  igniting  it  with  a  ready 
match.  The  ruddy  blaze  leaped  upward  and  threw 
generous  shadows  on  the  floor.  The  travellers,  sitting 
close  to  it,  felt  the  grateful  warmth  and  were  content. 

All  the  saddle  blankets  also  had  been  brought  in 
and  piled  on  one  of  the  saddles.  On  these  Sylvia  sat 
and  spread  out  her  hands  to  the  ruddy  blaze.  To 
Harley,  with  the  flame  of  the  firelight  on  her  face 
and  the  glow  of  the  coals  throwing  patches  of  red 
and  gold  on  her  hair,  she  seemed  some  brilliant  spirit 
come  to  light  up  the  gloomy  place.  Here  all  was 
warmth  and  brightness;  outside,  the  storm  moaned 
through  the  mountains  and  the  darkness. 

"Do  you  know,  I  enjoy  this,"  she  said,  as  she 
looked  into  the  crackling  fire. 

"So  Queen  City  ain't  so  bad,  ma'am?"  said  the 
guide,  with  dry  satisfaction. 

"  Not  bad  at  all,  but  very  good,"  she  replied,  gayly. 
"Don't  you  think  so,  Mr.  Harley?" 

"I  certainly  agree  with  you,"  replied  Harley,  de 
voutly,  "but  I'm  glad  that  Queen  City  is  just  where 
it  is." 

She  laughed. 

"Daddy  has  been  many  a  time  in  the  mountains 
without  his  Queen  City — haven't  you,  daddy?" 

"Often,"  said  "King"  Plummer,  looking  at  her 
with  a  pleased  smile.  But  he  wished  that  she  would 
not  call  him  "daddy,"  at  least  before  Harley;  it 
seemed  that  she  could  never  remember  his  request; 
but  she  had  warned  him. 

"An  old  hand  travellin'  in  the  mountains  always 
purvides  for  a  snowy  day,"  said  the  guide,  and  he 
took  from  his  saddle-bags  much  food  and  a  large  bottle. 

223 


THE    CANDIDATE 

They  drank  a  little,  all  except  Sylvia,  and  ate 
heartily.  The  last  touch  of  cold  departed,  and  the 
fire  still  sparkled  with  good  cheer,  casting  its  com 
forting  shadows  across  the  stained  floor. 

"I've  brought  in  the  horse -blankets,"  said  the 
guide,  "an'  with  them  under  us,  our  overcoats  over 
us,  an'  the  fire  afore  us,  we  ought  to  sleep  here  as 
snug  an'  warm  as  a  beaver  in  its  house." 

Sylvia  was  accustomed  to  camping  in  the  moun 
tains,  and  made  no  fuss,  but  quietly  leaned  back 
against  the  saddle  and  the  wall,  and  drew  her  heavy 
cloak  around  her.  She  was  soon  half  asleep,  and 
the  flames,  moving  off  into  the  distance,  seemed  to 
be  dancing  about  in  a  queer,  light-minded  fashion. 

Harley  walked  to  the  window  and  looked  out. 
The  night  was  black,  save  for  the  driving  snow,  and 
when  he  glanced  back  at  the  room  it  seemed  a  very 
haven  of  delight.  But  the  strangeness  of  their  sit 
uation,  the  weird  effect  of  the  dead  city,  with  the 
ghost-like  shapes  of  its  houses  showing  through  the 
snow,  was  upon  his  nerves,  and  he  did  not  feel  sleepy. 

Muttering  some  excuse  to  the  others,  he  went  into 
the  hall.  It  was  dark,  and  a  gust  of  cold  air  from 
the  open  window  at  the  end  struck  him  in  the  face. 
At  the  same  moment  Harley  saw  what  he  took  to 
be  a  light  farther  down  the  hall,  but  when  he  looked 
again  it  was  gone. 

It  might  be  a  delusion,  but  the  matter  troubled 
him;  if  a  lone  tramp  or  miner  were  in  the  building, 
he  wished  to  know.  Any  stranger  would  have  a 
right  in  the  hotel,  but  there  was  comradeship  and 
welcome  in  Jimmy  Grayson's  party. 

Harley's  instinct  said  that  all  was  not  right,  and, 
taking  off  his  boots,  he  crept  down  the  hall  and 
among  the  cross  -  halls  with  noiseless  feet.  He  did 

224 


THE    CANDIDATE 

not  see  the  light  again,  but  he  heard  in  another  room 
the  hum  of  voices,  softened  so  that  they  might  not 
reach  any  one  save  those  for  whom  they  were  in 
tended.  But  they  reached  Harley,  crouching  just  be 
hind  the  edge  of  the  door,  and,  hearing,  he  shuddered. 
A  great  danger  threatened  the  nominee  for  the  Presi 
dency  of  the  United  States.  Such  a  thing  as  the 
present  had  never  before  happened  in  the  history  of 
the  country. 

And  that  same  danger,  but  in  a  worse  form,  per 
haps,  threatened  Sylvia.  It  was  not  Harley's  fault 
that  a  girl  had  then  a  greater  place  than  a  Presi 
dential  nominee  in  his  mind.  He  shuddered,  and 
then  closed  his  lips  firmly  in  resolve. 

The  door  was  still  on  its  hinges,  and  it  was  still 
slightly  ajar.  Harley,  peeping  through  the  crack, 
saw  the  eight  occupants  of  the  room  by  the  faint 
light  from  the  window,  and  because  the  man  who 
did  the  talking,  and  who  showed  himself  so  evidently 
the  leader,  had  red  hair,  he  knew  him  instinctively. 
It  was  Red  Perkins  and  the  remnant  of  his  gang,  not 
scattered  to  the  winds  of  the  West,  as  Jim  and  every 
body  else  thought,  but  here  in  Montana,  in  their  old 
haunts.  And  Harley,  listening  to  their  talk,  meas 
ured  the  extent  of  their  knowledge,  which  was  far 
too  much;  they  knew  who  Jimmy  Gray  son  was, 
they  had  known  of  his  departure  from  Blue  Earth, 
and  they  had  followed  him  here ;  presently  they  would 
take  him  away,  and  the  whole  world  would  be  thrill 
ed.  No  such  prize  had  ever  fallen  into  the  hands  of 
robbers  in  America,  and  it  would  be  worth  a  million 
to  them. 

Harley  was  in  a  chill  as  he  listened,  because  he 
heard  them  speak  next  of  Sylvia,  and  one  of  them 
laughed  in  a  way  that  made  the  correspondent  want 
is  225 


THE    CANDIDATE 

to  spring  at  his  throat.     Sylvia  and  the  candidate 
must  be  saved. 

But  Harley,  thinking  his  hardest,  could  not  think 
how.  There  were  eight  men  well  armed  in  the  room 
before  him;  the  guide  and  Mr.  Plummer,  probably, 
had  pistols,  but  he  had  none,  and  he  was  sure  that 
Jimmy  Grayson  and  Mr.  Heathcote  were  without 
them.  He  paused  there  a  long  time,  undecided,  and 
at  last  he  crept  down  the  hall  again  and  towards  the 
great  parlor.  Then  he  put  on  his  boots,  re-entered 
the  room,  and  spoke  in  a  low  voice  to  his  comrades. 

The  guide's  fighting  blood  was  on  fire  at  once. 
"I've  a  revolver,"  he  said;  "we  kin  barricade  the 
room  and  hold  'em  off.  There  are  two  windows 
here,  opening  out  on  the  snow,  but  they  are  so  high 
they  can  hardly  reach  'em  with  their  hands.  We 
kin  make  a  good  fight  of  it." 

"I've  a  pistol,  too,"  said  Mr.  Plummer,  "and  we 
must  make  it  a  fight  to  the  death." 

He  spoke  quietly,  but  with  determination  and  a 
full  knowledge  of  all  the  danger  that  threatened. 
He  glanced  at  Sylvia,  who,  coming  back  from  her 
half-dream,  had  risen  to  her  feet.  Then  he  walked 
to  the  door,  because  the  "King"  was  ever  alert  in 
the  face  of  danger. 

"What  is  it?"  Sylvia  asked  of  Harley.  She  knew 
by  their  manner  that  something  strange  and  ter 
rifying  had  happened,  and  in  such  a  situation  it  was 
now  an  involuntary  act  with  her  to  turn  to  Harley. 

"  Sylvia,"  he  said — the  others  had  followed  "  King" 
Plummer  to  the  door — "you  ought  to  know." 

He  noticed  that,  though  pale,  she  was  quiet  and 
firm. 

"If  it  is  danger,  I  have  faced  it  before,"  she  said, 
proudly. 

226 


THE    CANDIDATE 

"As  you  will  face  it  now,  like  the  bravest  woman 
in  the  West.  'Red'  Perkins's  gang  of  outlaws  are 
out  there,  and  they  mean  to  take  Mr.  Grayson  to 
hold  for  ransom,  and  you — " 

Her  eyes  looked  straight  into  his,  and  suddenly 
they  shone  with  all  the  fulness  of  love  and  con 
fidence. 

"They  will  not  take  me  while  you  are  here,"  she 
said. 

"Not  if  we  have  to  die  together.  Sylvia,  I  be 
lieved  that  your  heart  was  mine,  and  in  this  mo 
ment  of  danger  I  know  it." 

He  spoke  truly.  In  the  crisis  their  souls  were 
bare  to  each  other.  He  seized  her  hands,  and  the 
brilliant  color  flamed  into  her  cheeks. 

"Sylvia!"  he  exclaimed,  in  a  thrilling  whisper. 

" Hush!"  she  said.  "The  others  are  about  to  come 
back." 

She  gently  withdrew  her  hands  from  his,  and  when 
"King"  Plummer  turned  away  from  the  door  he 
saw  nothing. 

"There's  not  a  shot  to  be  fired,"  said  Jimmy  Gray- 
son,  "because  I've  a  better  plan.  How  long  do  you 
think  it  will  be  before  they  come  for  me,  Harley?" 

"About  fifteen  minutes,  I  should  say;  at  least  that 
is  what  I  gathered  from  their  talk." 

"And  they  have  not  examined  the  building  or  the 
town?" 

"No;  they  merely  came  down  the  trail  behind  us 
and  slipped  into  that  room,  waiting  their  chance." 

"Very  good.  Jim,  you  told  me  a  while  ago  that 
the  Governor  of  Montana  once  spoke  to  two  hun 
dred  people  in  this  room;  it  was  a  fortunate  remark 
of  yours,  because  I  shall  speak  to  as  many  people 
to-night  in  this  same  room.  Shut  the  door  there, 

227 


THE   CANDIDATE 

put  the  saddles  before  it,  and  then  build  the  fire  as 
high  as  possible." 

The  candidate's  voice  was  sharp,  decisive,  and 
full  of  command.  The  born  leader  of  men  was  as 
serting  himself,  and  the  guide,  without  pausing  to 
reason,  hastened  to  obey.  He  shut  the  door,  put 
the  saddles  before  it,  and  heaped  upon  the  fire  all 
the  remaining  wood  except  a  stump  reserved  by 
Jimmy  Grayson's  express  command.  The  fire  leap 
ed  higher,  and  the  room  was  brilliantly  lighted. 

Jimmy  Grayson  stood  by,  erect,  calm,  and  grave. 

"Now,  gentlemen,"  he  said,  "you  are  a  crowd 
come  from  Crow's  Wing  to  meet  me  here,  and  to 
hear  what  I  have  to  say.  I  trust  that  you  will  like  it, 
and  indicate  your  liking  by  your  applause." 

The  stump  was  placed  in  the  middle  of  the  floor, 
and  Jimmy  Grayson  stepped  upon  it.  His  face  at 
that  height  was  visible  through  the  window  to  any 
one  outside,  although  the  others  would  be  hidden. 
Just  as  he  took  his  place  Harley  thought  he  heard 
the  soft  crunch  of  a  footstep  on  the  snow  beneath 
the  window.  He  felt  a  burning  curiosity  to  rise  and 
look  out,  but  he  restrained  it  and  did  not  move. 
The  guide  was  staring  at  the  candidate  in  open- 
mouthed  amazement,  but  he,  too,  did  not  speak. 
A  few  big  white  flakes  drove  in  at  the  open  window, 
but  they  did  not  reach  the  men  before  the  fire  that 
blazed  so  brightly.  Harley  again  thought  he  heard 
the  soft  shuffle  of  footsteps  on  the  snow  outside,  but 
then  the  burning  wood  crackled  merrily,  and  Jimmy 
Grayson  was  about  to  speak. 

Sylvia  stood  erect  against  the  wall,  her  glowing 
eyes  full  of  admiration.  Her  quick  mind  had  grasp 
ed  the  whole  plan. 

"Gentlemen  of  Crow's  Wing,"  said  the  candidate, 


THE    CANDIDATE 

in  his  full,  penetrating  voice,  which  the  empty  old 
building  gave  back  in  many  an  echo,  "it  is,  indeed,  a 
pleasure  to  me  to  meet  you  here.  The  circum 
stances,  the  situation,  are  such  as  to  inspire  any  one 
who  has  been  so  honored.  I  should  like  to  have 
seen  your  little  town,  the  home  of  brave  and  honest 
men,  nestling  as  it  does  among  these  mighty  moun 
tains,  and  far  from  the  rest  of  the  world,  but  strong 
and  self-reliant.  I  appreciate,  too,  your  kindness 
and  your  thought  for  me.  Seeing  the  advance  of 
the  storm,  and  knowing  its  dangers,  you  have  come 
to  meet  me  in  this  place,  once  so  full  of  life.  I  find 
something  singularly  appealing  and  pathetic  in  this. 
Once  again,  if  only  for  a  brief  space,  Queen  City  shall 
ring  with  human  voices  and  the  human  tread." 

The  candidate  paused  a  moment,  as  if  the  end  of  a 
rounded  period  had  come  and  he  were  gathering 
strength  for  another.  Then  suddenly  arose  a  mighty 
chorus  of  applause.  It  was  Harley,  "King"  Plum- 
mer,  Heathcote,  and  Jim,  and  their  act  was  spon 
taneous,  the  inspiration  of  the  moment,  drawn  from 
Jimmy  Grayson's  own  inspiration.  The  guide  beat 
upon  the  floor  with  both  hands  and  both  feet,  and 
the  other  three  were  not  less  active.  Moreover,  the 
guide  opened  his  mouth  and  let  forth  a  yell,  rapid, 
cumulative,  and  so  full  of  volume  that  it  sounded 
like  the  whoop  of  at  least  a  half-dozen  men.  The 
room  resounded  with  the  applause,  and  it  thundered 
down  the  halls  of  the  great  empty  building.  When 
it  died,  Harley,  listening  again  intently,  heard  once 
more  the  crunch  of  feet  on  the  snow  outside,  but  now 
it  was  a  rapid  movement  as  if  of  surprise.  But  the 
sound  came  to  him  only  a  moment,  because  the 
candidate  was  speaking  once  more,  and  he  was  worth 
hearing.  He  only  looked  away  to  see  Sylvia,  who 

229 


THE    CANDIDATE 

still  stood  against  the  wall  with  her  glowing  eyes 
fixed  in  admiration  on  her  uncle.  Once  or  twice 
she,  too,  glanced  aside!,  and  her  gaze  was  for  Harley. 
But  it  was  a  different  look  that  she  gave  him.  There 
was  admiration  in  it,  too,  and  also  a  love  that  no 
woman  ever  gives  to  a  mere  uncle.  In  those  mo 
ments  the  color  in  her  cheeks  deepened. 

As  an  orator  Jimmy  Grayson  was  always  good, 
but  sometimes  he  was  better  than  at  other  times, 
and  this  evening  was  one  of  his  best  times.  The 
audience  from  Crow's  Wing,  the  consideration  they 
had  shown  in  meeting  him  here  in  the  dead  city, 
and  the  wildness  of  the  night  outside  seemed  to  in 
spire  him.  He  showed  the  greatest  familiarity  with 
the  life  of  the  mountains  and  the  needs  of  the  miners ; 
he  was  one  of  them,  he  sympathized  with  them,  he 
entered  their  homes,  and  if  he  could  he  would  make 
their  lives  brighter. 

Never  had  the  candidate  spoken  to  a  more  ap 
preciative  audience.  With  foot  and  hand  and  voice 
it  thundered  its  applause;  the  building  echoed  with 
it,  and  all  the  time  the  fire  burned  higher  and  higher, 
and  the  merry  crackling  of  the  wood  was  a  minor 
note  in  the  chorus  of  applause.  But  Jimmy  Gray- 
son's  own  voice  was  like  an  organ,  every  key  of 
which  he  played;  it  expressed  every  human  emotion; 
full  and  swelling,  it  rose  above  the  applause,  and 
Harley,  watching  his  expressive  face,  saw  that  he 
felt  these  emotions.  Once  he  believed  that  the  can 
didate,  carried  away  by  his  own  feelings,  had  be 
come  oblivious  of  time  and  place,  and  thought  now 
only  of  the  troubles  and  needs  of  the  mountain  men. 

Harley's  attention  turned  once  more  to  the  win 
dows.  He  thought  what  a  lucky  chance  it  was  that 
no  one  standing  on  the  ground  outside  was  high 

230 


THE    CANDIDATE 

enough  to  look  through  them  into  the  room.  He 
blessed  the  unknown  builder,  and  then  he  tried  to 
hear  that  familiar  shuffle  on  the  snow,  but  he  did 
not  hear  it  again. 

Jimmy  Gray  son  spoke  on  and  on,  and  the  applause 
kept  pace,  until  at  last  the  guide  slipped  quietly  from 
the  room.  When  he  returned,  a  quarter  of  an  hour 
later,  the  candidate  was  still  speaking,  but  Jim  gave 
him  a  signal  look  and  he  stopped  abruptly. 

"They  are  gone,"  said  Jim.  "They  must  have 
been  gone  a  full  hour.  The  snow  has  stopped,  and 
I  guess  they  are  at  least  ten  miles  from  here,  runnin' 
for  their  lives.  They  knew  that  if  the  men  of  Crow's 
Wing  put  hands  on  'em  they'd  be  hangin'  from  a 
limb  ten  minutes  after." 

Jimmy  Gray  son  sank  down  on  the  stump,  ex 
hausted,  and  wiped  his  hot  face. 

"Say,  Mr.  Harley,"  whispered  the  guide  to  the 
correspondent,  "I've  heard  some  great  speeches  in 
my  time,  but  to-night's  was  the  greatest." 

The  candidate  spoke  the  next  day  at  Crow's  Wing, 
and  his  audience  was  delighted.  But  Jim  was  right. 
The  speech  was  not  as  great  as  the  one  he  had  made 
at  Queen  City. 


XV 

WORDS    BY   THE    WAY 

RUMORS  of  the  adventure  in  the  dead  city  had 
spread  throughout  the  little  mountain  town 
in  which  Jimmy  Grayson  made  his  speech  the  day 
after  the  stop  in  Queen  City,  and  when  he  began 
the  return  journey  an  escort,  from  which  all  the 
bandits  in  the  wilds. of  the  Rocky  Mountains  would 
have  turned  aside,  was  ready  for  him.  It  was  a 
somewhat  noisy  band,  but  orderly  and  full  of  enthu 
siasm,  secretly  wishing  that  a  second  attempt  would 
be  made,  and  their  devotion  to  Jimmy  Grayson  and 
his  cause  found  an  answering  sympathy  in  Harley. 

They  had  passed  the  night  in  Crow's  Wing,  and 
the  start  was  made  when  the  first  sunlight  brought  a 
sudden  uplifting  of  a  white  world  into  a  dazzling 
burst  of  blue  and  yellow  and  red.  But  no  more 
snow  was  falling,  and  those  who  knew  said  that  the 
day  would  continue  fair. 

Sylvia  Morgan  had  not  been  present  at  the  speech 
the  night  before.  Even  she,  bred  amid  hardships 
and  dangers,  was  forced  to  admit  that  her  nerves 
were  somewhat  unstrung,  and  she  rested  quietly  in 
a  warm  room  at  the  hotel.  Harley  knocked  once  on 
her  door,  and  received  the  reply  that  she  was  all 
right.  Then  he  turned  away  and  went  slowly  down 
the  hall,  thoughtful,  and,  for  the  first  time  in  many 
days,  thoroughly  understanding  himself,  To  the 

232 


THE    CANDIDATE 

world,  when  the  world  should  hear  of  it,  the  candi 
date  would  always  be  the  central  figure  in  the  epi 
sode  of  the  dead  city,  but  Harley  knew  that  their  ad 
venture  in  the  old  hotel  was  more  momentous  to 
him  than  it  had  been  to  the  candidate.  His  doubts 
and  his  hesitation  were  gone;  he  knew  what  Sylvia 
Morgan  represented  to  him,  and  with  that  knowl 
edge  came  a  certain  peace;  it  would  have  been  a 
greater  peace  had  not  the  shadow  of  "King"  Plum- 
mer  been  so  dark. 

When  Sylvia  reappeared  for  the  return  there  was 
nothing  to  indicate  that  she  had  ever  been  tired  or 
nervous.  She  seemed  to  Harley  the  incarnation  of 
fresh,  young  life,  and  there  was  a  singular  softness 
and  gentleness  in  her  manner,  all  the  more  winning 
because  she  had  let  it  appear  more  rarely  hitherto. 
She  held  out  her  hand  to  Harley. 

"You  see  that  I  have  passed  through  our  advent 
ure  without  harm  to  my  nerves,"  she  said. 

"I  knew  that  you  would  do  so,"  replied  Harley. 

He  would  have  said  more,  but  the  armed  escort,  to 
a  man,  was  bowing  respectfully,  and  making  no  very 
great  effort  to  conceal  its  admiration  at  the  sight  of 
a  lady,  young  and  beautiful,  such  an  infrequent  vis 
itor  to  their  lonely  hamlet.  Nor  was  this  admiration 
diminished  by  the  fact,  known  to  them  all,  that  she 
had  taken  the  hazardous  journey  over  the  moun 
tains  with  Jimmy  Grayson.  They  considered  it  a 
special  honor  and  dignity  conferred  upon  themselves, 
and  as  the  candidate  introduced  them,  one  by  one, 
the  bows  were  repeated  but  with  greater  depth. 
Sylvia  Morgan  knew  how  to  receive  them.  She  was 
a  child  of  the  mountains  herself,  and  without  any 
sacrifice  of  her  own  dignity  she  could  make  them 
feel  that  they  knew  her  and  liked  her, 


THE    CANDIDATE 

All  Crow's  Wing  saw  them  off,  and  they  rode  away 
over  the  mountains  in  the  splendid  red  and  gold  of 
the  dawn.  Mr.  Grayson  and  "King"  Plummer  were 
near  the  head  of  the  troop,  and  Harley  and  Sylvia 
were  near  the  rear,  where  they  remained  a  part  of 
the  general  group  for  a  long  time,  but  at  last  dropped 
back  behind  all  the  others. 

"Won't  Mr.  Churchill  be  shocked  when  he  hears 
of  our  adventure  in  the  dead  city?"  said  Sylvia. 

"  He  will  think  that  it  is  the  climax,"  was  the  reply. 

Harley  laughed,  but  in  a  few  moments  he  became 
grave.  Yet  there  was  an  expression  of  much  sweet 
ness  about  his  firm  mouth. 

"Still  I  am  glad  that  it  happened,"  he  said.  "I 
saw  a  new  illustration  of  our  candidate's  powers, 
and  I  learned,  too,  much  more  than  that." 

She  glanced  at  him,  and  as  she  read  something  in 
his  face  she  looked  quickly  away,  and  a  sudden 
flush  rose  to  her  cheeks.  Despite  herself,  her  heart 
began  to  beat  fast  and  her  hand  trembled  on  the 
bridle  rein. 

Harley  expected  her  to  ask  what  it  was  that  he 
had  learned,  but  when  he  saw  her  averted  face  he 
went  on: 

"I  learned  then,  Sylvia,  what  I  should  have  known 
long  before,  that  I  love  you,  that  you  are  the  one 
woman  in  the  world  for  me.  And  I  do  not  believe, 
Sylvia,  that  you  care  only  a  little  for  me." 

He  was  bold,  masterful,  and  the  ring  of  confidence 
was  in  his  voice.  His  hand,  for  a  moment,  touched 
her  trembling  hand  on  the  bridle  rein,  and  she  thrilled 
with  the  answering  touch. 

"Sylvia,"  he  said,  with  grave  sweetness,  "I  mean 
to  win  you." 

"You  must  not  talk  so,"  she  said,  and  a  sudden 
234 


THE   CANDIDATE 

pallor  replaced  the  color  in  her  face.  "You  know 
that  I  cannot  in  honor  hear  it.  I  am  promised,  and 
of  my  own  accord,  to  another,  and  to  one  to  whom 
every  sacred  obligation  commands  me  to  keep  my 
promise." 

"I  do  not  forget  your  promise — Mr.  Plummer  was 
in  my  mind  when  I  was  speaking — nor  do  I  urge  you 
to  break  it." 

"Why,  then,  do  you  speak  ?  Why  do  you  say  that 
you  mean  to  win  me?" 

"Because  Mr.  Plummer  must  break  this  bargain 
himself.  He,  of  his  own  accord,  must  give  your 
promise  back  to  you.  I  mean  to  make  him  do  so. 
I  do  not  yet  know  how,  but  I  shall  find  a  way. 
Oh,  I  tell  you,  Sylvia,  this  marriage  of  his  and 
yours  is  not  right.  It's  against  nature.  You  do 
not  love  him;  you  cannot — do  not  protest — not 
in  a  way  that  a  woman  should  love  the  man  whom 
she  is  going  to  marry.  You  love  me  instead,  and  I 
mean  to  make  you  keep  on  loving  me,  just  as  I  mean 
to  make  Mr.  Plummer  give  you  back  your  promise." 

"Have  you  not  undertaken  two  large  tasks?"  she 
said,  smiling  faintly. 

But  Harley,  usually  so  short  and  terse,  had  made 
this  long  speech  with  fire  and  heat,  as  the  "still 
waters"  were  now  running  very  deep,  and  he  went  on: 

"I  have  given  you  fair  warning,  Sylvia.  Neither 
you  nor  Mr.  Plummer  can  say  that  I  have  begun  any 
secret  campaign.  I  have  told  you  that  I  mean  to 
make  you  marry  me." 

She  thought  that  she  ought  to  stop  him,  to  tell 
him  that  he  must  never  speak  of  such  a  thing  again. 
Before  her  rose  the  figure  of  the  man  whom  she  had 
promised  to  marry,  square,  massive,  and  iron-gray, 
but,  solid  as  the  figure  was,  it  quickly  faded  in  the 

235 


THE    CANDIDATE 

light  of  the  real  and  earnest  young  face  beside  her. 
Youth  spoke  to  youth,  and  she  did  not  stop  him, 
because  what  he  was  saying  to  her  was  very  pleasant, 
though  it  might  be  wrong. 

The  morning  was  brilliant  and  vivid  on  the  moun 
tains.  Far  away  the  white  peaks  melted  dimly  into 
the  blue  sky,  and  below  them  lay  the  valleys,  cup 
after  cup,  white  with  snow.  The  others  rode  on 
ahead,  not  noticing,  and  Harley  was  not  one  to  let 
time  slip  through  his  fingers. 

"You  must  not  speak  in  this  way  to  me  again," 
she  said,  at  last,  although  her  tone  was  not  sad,  only 
firm,  "because  it  is  not  right.  I  knew  that  it  was 
wrong,  even  while  you  were  saying  it,  but  I  could  not 
stop  you.  You  know  you  cannot  change  what  is 
fixed,  and  I  must  marry  Mr.  Plummer." 

Harley  laughed  joyously.  Later  he  did  not  know 
why  he  was  so  confident  then,  but  the  air  of  the 
mountains  and  a  new  fire,  too,  were  sparkling  in  his 
veins,  and  at  that  moment  he  had  no  doubts. 

"You  will  not  marry  Mr.  Plummer,"  he  repeated, 
with  energy,  "and  it  is  not  you  that  will  break  the 
promise.  It  is  he  that  shall  give  it  back  to  you." 

For  the  time  she  felt  his  faith,  and  her  face  glowed, 
but  her  courage  left  her  when  the  "King,"  who  had 
been  ahead  with  the  candidate,  dropped  back  towards 
the  rear  and  joined  them. 

"King"  Plummer,  too,  had  begun  that  return 
journey  with  feelings  of  exhilaration.  Everything 
in  the  trip  from  Crow's  Wing  appealed  to  him,  be 
cause  it  was  so  thoroughly  in  consonance  with  his 
early  life  in  the  mountains.  The  adventure  in 
Queen  City  had  stirred  his  blood,  and  around  him 
were  familiar  things.  He,  too,  wished  that  an  or 
ganized  band  of  bandits  would  come,  because  in  his 

236 


THE   CANDIDATE 

younger  days  he  had  helped  to  hunt  down  some  of 
the  worst  men  in  the  mountains,  and  the  old  fighting 
blood  mounted  as  high  as  ever  in  his  veins. 

He  had  seen  that  Sylvia  was  entirely  recovered 
from  the  alarms  of  the  night  at  Queen  City,  and  then, 
because  he  felt  that  it  was  his  duty,  and  because 
there  was  a  keen  zest  in  it,  too,  he  rode  on  ahead 
with  the  candidate,  to  whom  he  pointed  out  dim 
blue  peaks  that  he  knew,  and  to  whom  he  laid  down 
the  proposition  that  those  mountains  were  full  of 
minerals,  and  would  one  day  prove  a  source  of  il 
limitable  wealth  to  the  nation. 

The  crispness  of  the  morning,  the  vast  expanse  of 
mountain,  and  the  feeling  of  deep,  full  life  made  the 
"King's"  blood  tingle.  His  years  of  hardship,  dan 
ger,  and  joy — and  he  had  enjoyed  his  life  greatly — 
swept  before  him,  and  he  laughed  under  his  breath; 
life  was  still  very  good.  After  a  while  the  thought 
of  Sylvia  came  to  him,  and  he  smiled  again,  because 
Sylvia  was  truly  good  to  look  upon.  He  rode  back 
towards  her,  and  then  he  received  a  blow — a  blow 
square  in  the  face,  and  dealt  heavily. 

"King"  Plummer's  was  not  a  mind  trained  to 
look  upon  the  more  delicate  shades  of  life — he  dealt 
rather  with  the  obvious;  but  when  he  saw  Harley 
and  Sylvia  he  knew.  Mrs.  Grayson's  warning, 
which  at  first  he  had  only  half  accepted,  had  come 
true,  and  it  had  come  quickly.  His  instant  impulse 
was  that  of  the  primitive  man  to  raise  his  fist  and 
strike  down  this  foolish,  this  presumptuous  youth 
who  had  dared  to  cross  the  path  of  him,  the  King 
of  the  Mountains;  but  he  did  not  raise  it,  because 
"King"  Plummer  was  a  gentleman;  instead,  he 
strove  to  conceal  the  fact  that  he  was  breathing  hard 
and  deep,  and  he  spoke  to  them  in  a  tone  that  he 

237 


THE    CANDIDATE 

sought  to  render  careless,  but  which  really  had  an 
unnatural  sound.  Sylvia  gave  him  a  glance  that 
was  half  fear,  and  had  the  "King"  taken  notice  it 
would  have  filled  him  with  deep  pain,  but  Harley, 
who  alone  of  the  three  retained  his  self-possession, 
spoke  lightly  of  passing  things.  The  feeling  of  ex 
ulting  strength  was  not  yet  gone  from  him;  in  the 
presence  of  this  man  of  great  achievement  he  was 
not  afraid,  and,  moreover,  the  desire  to  protect 
Sylvia,  to  turn  attention  from  her,  was  strong  within 
him. 

For  these  reasons  Harley  carried  the  whole  bur 
den  of  the  talk,  and  carried  it  well.  Neither  of  the 
others  wished  to  interrupt  him;  Sylvia  being  full  of 
these  new  emotions,  half  joy  and  half  fear,  that  agi 
tated  her,  and  Mr.  Plummer  trying  to  evolve  from 
chaos  a  way  to  act. 

Although  the  "King"  had  suppressed  the  mus 
cular  manifestation,  he  was  none  the  less  burned  by 
internal  fire.  Sylvia  was  his:  it  was  he  who  had 
found  her  in  the  mountains ;  it  was  he  who  had  given 
her  the  years  of  care  and  tenderness,  and  by  every 
right,  including  that  of  promise,  she  belonged  to  him. 
Nor  was  he  one  to  give  her  up  for  a  fancy.  He  had 
seen  the  look  of  love  on  her  face  when  she  spoke  to 
Harley,  but  she  was  only  a  girl — from  the  crest  of 
his  years  the  "King"  thought  that  he  saw  the  truth, 
and  knew  it — and  as  soon  as  this  campaign  was  over, 
and  the  Eastern  youth  had  disappeared,  she  would 
forget  him. 

Mr.  Plummer  regarded  this  youth  out  of  the  cor 
ner  of  his  eye,  and  while  he  pitied  him  for  his  igno 
rance  of  life,  he  was  bound  to  admit  that  Harley  was 
a  handsome  fellow,  tall,  well  knit,  and  with  an  air 
of  self-reliance.  Evidently  there  was  good  stuff  in 

238 


THE    CANDIDATE 

him,  and  he  would  amount  to  something  when  he 
was  trained  and  mature,  although  the  "King"  con 
cluded  that  he  needed  a  great  deal  of  training.  But 
he  could  not  fail  to  feel  respect  for  Harley's  presence 
of  mind,  his  calm,  and  his  ease.  The  youth  showed 
no  fear  of  him,  no  sign  of  apprehension,  and  the 
mountaineer  gave  him  credit  for  it. 

Sylvia  was  glad  when  they  stopped  in  one  of  the 
lower  glades  to  rest  and  eat  of  the  food  which  had 
been  so  amply  provided  for  them.  But  she  was 
proud  of  Harley  and  the  manner  in  which  he  had 
taken  upon  himself  all  the  burden.  His  conduct 
went  far  to  justify  in  her  eyes  his  confident  predic 
tion,  and,  secretly  approving,  she  watched  the  ease 
with  which  he  bore  himself  among  the  blunt  moun 
taineers  and  the  handsome  manner  in  which  he 
affiliated.  She  noticed  that  they  seemed  to  think 
of  Harley  as  one  like  Jimmy  Grayson — that  is,  one  of 
themselves — and  they  never  considered  him  raw  or 
green  in  any  respect. 

Her  confidence  in  Harley  and  the  momentary 
elation  returned  as  they  stood  there  in  this  cup  in 
the  mountain-side  and  looked  out  upon  the  expanse 
of  peak  and  plain.  She  ate,  too,  with  an  appetite 
that  the  mountain  air  sharpened,  and  she  thrilled 
with  strength  and  hope. 

Mr.  Plummer,  from  some  motive  that  she  did  not 
understand,  kept  himself  in  the  background  during 
the  stop;  nor  did  she  know  how  his  big  heart  was 
filled  with  wrath  and  gloom.  But  as  he  stood  silently 
at  the  farthest  rim  of  the  circle,  he  resolved  to  push 
his  fortunes,  which  was  in  accordance  with  his 
nature. 

"Will  you  walk  to  the  edge  of  the  cove  with  me?" 
he  said  to  the  candidate,  when  he  saw  that  the  latter 

239 


THE    CANDIDATE 

had  finished  his  luncheon,  and  Mr.  Grayson,  without 
a  word,  complied  with  his  request. 

Jimmy  Grayson  must  have  had  some  premonition 
of  what  was  to  come,  because  he  obeyed  his  first 
impulse,  and  glanced  at  Harley  and  Sylvia,  who 
were  standing  together.  He  was  confirmed  in  his 
thought  when  he  saw  the  look  of  gloom  and  resolve 
upon  the  face  of  his  friend. 

"I  want  to  speak  to  you  of  Sylvia,"  said  "King" 
Plummer,  in  tones  of  hurry,  as  if  it  cost  him  an  effort. 
"It's  about  our  marriage.  I  think  I  ought  to  hurry 
it  up  a  little.  You  see — well,  you  can't  help  seeing, 
that,  compared  with  Sylvia,  I'm  old.  I'm  not  really 
old,  but  I'm  old  enough  to  be  her  father,  an'  youth 
has  a  way  that's  pretty  hard  to  break  of  turnin'  to 
youth." 

"Yes,"  said  Jimmy  Grayson. 

"Sylvia's  just  a  girl;  she  don't  seem  much  more  'n 
a  child  to  me,  an'  lately  she's  been  travellin'  about  a 
heap,  an'  she's  met  new  people.  Now,  I  don't  blame 
her,  don't  think  that,  because  it's  natural,  but  here 
is  this  young  writin'  chap." 

"Harley,  you  mean?" 

"Yes.  An'  I'm  not  sayin'  anythin'  against  him, 
either,  though  writin'  has  never  been  much  in  my 
line,  but  he  an'  Sylvia  seem  to  have  taken  a  sort  of 
shine  to  each  other — I  don't  know  whether  it  amounts 
to  any  more  than  that,  though  I  suppose  it  could  if 
it  was  give  a  chance;  but  down  there  in  Queen  City 
he  did  more  for  her  than  I  did,  or  anybody  else,  and 
I  suppose  that  tells  with  a  girl.  Well,  you  saw  'em 
together  as  we  walked  out  here,  an'  I'm  bound  to 
admit  that  they  make  a  powerful  likely  couple." 

He  hesitated,  as  if  he  were  waiting  for  the  candi 
date  to  speak,  but  Mr.  Grayson  was  silent.  He 

240 


THE    CANDIDATE 

glanced  once  at  the  strong  face  of  Plummer,  drawn 
as  if  in  pain,  and  then  he  looked  into  the  valley  a 
thousand  feet  below.  Jimmy  Grayson  did  not  care 
to  speak. 

"I  ain't  a  blind  man,"  continued  the  "King."  "I 
may  not  be  too  smart,  but  still  things  don't  have  to 
be  driven  into  me  with  a  wedge.  If  Sylvia  and  Har- 
Tey  were  left  to  themselves,  they  would  fall  deep  in 
love,  I  can  see  that;  but  I  tell  you,  Mr.  Grayson, 
she's  mine,  she  belongs  to  me,  because  I've  earned 
her,  and  because  she's  promised  herself  to  me,  too, 
an'  I  can't  give  her  up.  Still,  if  it's  wrong,  if  I  ought 
to  let  her  have  her  promise  back,  I'll  do  it  anyhow. 
An'  that's  why  I've  asked  you  to  walk  out  here.  I 
don't  like  much  to  speak  to  another  man  of  a  thing 
right  next  to  my  heart,  but  I  want  to  ask  you,  Mr. 
Grayson — you  are  her  uncle  an'  my  best  friend — 
what  do  you  think  I  ought  to  do?" 

It  was  hard  to  embarrass  Jimmy  Grayson,  but  he 
was  embarrassed  now.  He  would  rather  any  other 
man  in  the  world  had  asked  him  any  other  question. 
Sylvia  was  his  niece,  and  her  happiness  was  dear  to 
him.  Harley,  too,  had  found  a  place  in  his  heart.  And 
when  he  glanced  at  them  again  and  saw  them  still 
together,  it  seemed  fit  and  right  that  they  should 
continue  so  through  life.  But  there  was  "King" 
Plummer,  an  honest  man,  and  his  claim  could  not 
be  denied.  And  his  mind  could  not  help  asking  this 
insidious  little  question,  "If  Sylvia  is  allowed  to 
throw  over  'King'  Plummer,  will  he  not  sulk  and 
allow  the  Mountain  States,  passing  from  her  uncle, 
to  go  into  the  other  column?"  Jimmy  Grayson 
would  not  have  been  human  if  he  had  not  heard  this 
little  question  demanding  an  answer,  but  he  reso 
lutely  resisted  it. 

16  241 


THE    CANDIDATE 

"What  do  you  say?"  asked  Mr.  Plummer.  "I'd 
risk  much  on  your  advice." 

"I  was  studying  your  question,  because  in  a  case 
like  this  a  man  has  to  think  of  so  many  things,  and 
then  may  miss  the  right  one.  But,  Mr.  Plummer,  I 
don't  know  what  to  say;  I  think,  however,  I'd  wait. 
Sylvia  is  a  good  girl,  and  I  know  you  can  trust  her. 
But  they  are  beckoning  to  us;  they  are  ready  to 
start." 

He  was  glad  of  that  start,  because  it  saved  him 
from  further  discussion  of  the  problem,  and  Mr. 
Plummer  went  back  with  him  moodily. 

Yet  the  resolve  in  the  "King's"  mind  had  only 
been  strengthened  by  his  talk  with  the  candidate. 
The  danger  of  Sylvia  slipping  through  his  fingers 
because  of  his  own  want  of  precaution  made  her 
all  the  more  dear  to  him,  and  he  was  determined  to 
take  that  precaution  now.  So  he  was  watchful 
throughout  the  remainder  of  the  journey,  seeking 
his  opportunity,  and  it  came  towards  the  twilight, 
as  they  saw  the  first  houses  of  the  railroad  station 
rise  upon  the  horizon. 

Mrs.  Grayson,  Hobart,  Blaisdell,  the  state  politi 
cians,  and,  all  the  others  came  out  to  meet  them,  and 
for  a  while  there  was  a  turmoil  of  voices  asking 
questions  and  answering  them.  Presently  Sylvia 
slipped  from  the  group,  and  Mr.  Plummer  followed 
her  towards  the  hotel. 

"Sylvia,"  he  said,  "wait  for  me.  I  have  some 
thing  to  say." 

She  recognized  an  unusual  tone  in  his  voice  and  she 
was  frightened.  She  felt  an  almost  irresistible  im 
pulse  to  run  and  to  hide  herself  in  some  dim  room  of 
the  hotel.  But  she  did  not  do  it;  instead,  she  waited 
and  walked  by  his  side. 

242 


THE    CANDIDATE 

"Sylvia,"  he  said,  "the  perils  and  hardships  of 
the  trip  we  are  just  finishin'  have  set  me  to  thinkin' 
hard." 

She  trembled  again.  She  felt  as  if  he  were  going 
to  say  something  that  she  would  not  like  to  hear. 

"That  trip  was  full  of  dangers  for  you,  and,  as  we 
go  through  all  this  Western  country,  there  may  be 
more  to  come.  I  want  the  right,  Sylvia,  to  look 
after  you,  to  look  after  you  more  closely  than  I've 
ever  done  before,  and  to  do  that,  Sylvia,  I've  got  to 
be  your  husband." 

"I  have  promised." 

"I  know  you  have,  an'  I  know  you'll  keep  your 
promise.  But  I  want  you  to  keep  it  now.  Why 
couldn't  we  get  married,  say  next  week,  and  make 
this  campaign  one  big  weddin'  tour.  I  think  it 
would  be  grand,  Sylvia,  an'  it's  right  easy  to  arrange." 

He  paused,  awaiting  her  answer,  but  she  had  sud 
denly  lost  all  her  color,  and,  despite  herself,  she  trem 
bled  violently. 

"Oh  no!"  she  cried,  "not  now!  It  would  be  bet 
ter  to  wait.  Why  break  up  this  pleasant —  Oh,  I 
don't  mean  that!  I  mean,  why  not  go  on  as  we  are 
through  the  campaign,  and  afterwards  we  could  talk 
of — of — what  you  propose?  Anything  else  now 
would  be  so  unusual.  I  think  we'd  better  wait!" 

She  spoke  almost  breathlessly  under  impulse,  and 
then  she  stopped  suddenly  as  if  afraid.  The  color 
poured  back  into  her  face,  and  she  waited  timidly. 

The  King  of  the  Mountains,  who  had  never  known 
fear,  was  gripped  by  a  cold  chill.  He  had  delivered 
his  master-stroke  and  it  had  failed. 

"We'll  wait,  Sylvia,"  he  said,  gloomily.  "Of 
course  a  woman's  wish  in  such  a  matter  as  this  is 
law,  and  more  thari  law." 


THE    CANDIDATE 

"Oh,  daddy,  don't  you  see  how  it  is?"  she  cried, 
moved  by  his  tone.  "I'm  but  twenty-two.  I  don't 
want  to  marry  just  yet.  I  haven't  seen  enough  of 
this  big  world.  Why  can't  we  wait  a  little?" 

"Don't  be  afraid,  child;  no  one  shall  make  you 
marry  when  you  don't  want  to,"  he  said,  soothingly 
and  protectingly,  and  this  role  became  him  superbly. 
"The  subject  sha'n't  be  mentioned  to  you  again 
while  the  campaign  lasts." 

"You  are  the  best  man  in  the  world,  daddy!"  she 
exclaimed.  Suddenly  she  rose  on  tiptoe,  kissed  him 
lightly  on  the  cheek,  and  then  ran  away.  "King" 
Plummer  walked  gravely  back  to  the  lobby  of  the 
hotel,  where  a  crowd  was  gathered. 

Harley  was  one  of  this  crowd,  and  on  entering  the 
room  he  had  been  met  at  once  by  Churchill,  upon 
whose  face  was  a  look  of  consternation. 

"Harley,"  he  asked,  "is  the  report  true  that 
Gray  son  was  in  danger  of  being  kidnapped  by 
bandits  on  this  trip  to  Crow's  Wing?" 

"It  is  true,  every  word  of  it." 

"My  God!  what  will  Europe  say?"  exclaimed 
Churchill,  aghast. 

Harley  laughed,  but  he  did  not  attempt  to  reason 
with  Churchill.  He  knew  that  the  correspondent 
of  the  Monitor  was  too  far  gone  to  be  reached  by 
argument. 

Churchill  sent  a  lurid  despatch  to  the  Monitor, 
describing  in  detail  the  folly  and  recklessness  of  the 
candidate,  and  the  manner  in  which  he  neglected 
the  great  issues  of  the  campaign  for  the  sake  of  im 
pulses,  which  always  terminated  in  frivolous  or  dan 
gerous  adventures.  And  the  Monitor  fully  backed 
up  its  correspondent,  because,  when  the  issue  of  the 
paper  that  published  the  despatch  reached  them,  it 

244 


THE    CANDIDATE 

also  contained  an  editorial,  in  which  the  editor  wrote 
in  anguish  of  heart: 

"We  have  supported  Mr.  Grayson  in  this  campaign 
with  as  much  zeal  and  energy  as  our  moral  sense 
would  permit.  We  have  given  him  full  credit  for 
all  the  virtues  that  he  may  possess,  and  we  have 
been  willing  at  all  times  for  him  to  profit  by  our 
experience  and  advice.  But  our  readers  will  bear 
witness  that  we  have  never  failed  in  courage  to  de 
nounce  the  wrong,  even  if  it  should  be  in  our  own 
house.  Our  easy,  and  on  the  whole  superficial, 
American  temperament  condones  too  many  things. 
Never  was  it  more  noticeable  than  in  the  vital  is 
sues  of  this  Presidential  campaign.  The  yellow  jour 
nals  are  making  a  great  noise  over  Mr.  Grayson ;  they 
shout  about  his  oratory,  his  generosity,  and  his  noble 
impulses  until  the  really  serious  minority  of  us  can 
scarcely  hear;  but  the  grave,  thoughtful  people,  those 
who  are  recognized  in  Europe  as  the  real  leaders  of 
American  opinion,  will  not  be  put  down.  Despite 
the  turmoil  of  the  childish,  we  have  never  lost 
our  heads.  The  Monitor,  from  the  very  first,  has 
perceived  the  truth,  and  it  has  the  courage  to  tell 
it.  We  contribute  this  advice  willingly  and  with 
out  charge  to  those  who  are  conducting  the  cam 
paign. 

"The  youthful  and  flamboyant  qualities  must  be 
eradicated  from  Mr.  Grayson.  Our  young  republic 
cannot  afford  to  be  discredited  in  the  eyes  of  Europe 
by  the  sensational  or  frivolous  actions  of  one  who  is 
nominated  by  a  great  party  for  the  high  office  of 
President.  This  last  adventure  with  brigands  in  the 
mountains  is  really  more  than  our  patience  will  bear, 
and  our  readers  know  that  our  patience  is  great, 

245 


THE    CANDIDATE 

We  have  suggested,  we  have  advised,  and  we  have 
even  threatened  by  indirection,  but  thus  far  it  has 
all  been  futile. 

"Now  we  mean  to  speak  with  the  bluntness  and 
decision  demanded  by  the  circumstances.  A  com 
mittee  of  men,  mature  in  years  and  solid  in  judgment, 
some  of  whom  we  can  name,  must  be  put  in  control 
of  the  campaign.  Mr.  Grayson  must  be  kept  within 
strict  limits;  he  must  take  advice  before  delivering 
his  speeches,  and  he  must  not  be  permitted  to  turn 
aside  for  irrelevant  issues.  And  since  the  Monitor 
speaks  reluctantly,  and  in  the  utmost  kindness,  we 
suggest  that  he  become  a  faithful  reader  of  our  col 
umns.  A  word  to  the  wise  is  sufficient." 

The  day  this  issue  of  the  Monitor  arrived  Sylvia 
said  to  Churchill: 

"Mr.  Churchill,  I  want  to  thank  you  in  behalf  of 
my  uncle  for  that  beautiful  editorial  in  the  Monitor. 
It  was  put  in  the  very  way  that  would  appeal  to  him 
most." 

"Do  you  really  think  so,  Miss  Morgan?"  said 
Churchill,  blushing  with  borrowed  pride. 

"Oh  yes,  but  it  was  so  typical,  it  had  so  much  of 
a  certain  personal  quality  in  it,  that  I  am  sure  you 
must  have  telegraphed  it  to  the  Monitor  yourself." 

"King"  Plummer,  who  stood  by  and  who  had 
very  little  to  say  these  days,  smiled  sourly. 


XVI 

BY   THE    FIRELIGHT 

THE  special  train  now  entered  one  of  the  most 
mountainous  portions  of  Utah,  and,  as  the  stren 
uous  nature  of  the  campaign  continued,  its  exigencies 
permitted  little  time  for  other  things.  Personal  feel 
ings,  fears,  and  hopes  had  to  be  buried,  or  at  least 
hidden  for  the  time,  and  Harley,  like  all  the  rest,  was 
absorbed  in  work.  Nevertheless,  his  feeling  of  con 
fidence,  even  exhilaration,  remained.  He  believed 
that  he  would  yet  discover  a  way. 

He  found  this  part  of  the  campaign  pleasant,  physi 
cally  as  well  as  mentally.  The  alternation  of  huge 
mountain  and  fertile  valley  was  grateful  to  the  eye, 
and,  however  severe  the  day's  journey  might  be, 
they  knew  there  would  be  good  rest  at  the  end. 

It  had  been  nearly  a  week  since  the  episode  of  the 
dead  city,  when  Hobart  bustled  back  to  Harley  and 
said: 

"  Harley,  we  shall  have  the  noble  red  man  to  hear 
us  to-night.  We  stop  just  at  the  edge  of  the  Indian 
reservation,  and  a  lot  of  the  braves,  with  their 
squaws,  too,  I  suppose,  will  attend.  Of  course  they 
will  be  duly  impressed  by  Jimmy  Grayson's  ora 
tory." 

Sylvia  Morgan  was  present  when  this  news  was 
announced,  and  Hobart  suddenly  stopped  short  and 
glanced  at  her.  She  had  turned  pale,  and  then,  re- 


THE   CANDIDATE 

membering  that  old  tragedy  in  her  life  when  she  was 
a  little  child,  he  ascribed  her  pallor  to  her  horror  at 
the  mention  of  Indians.  But  Hobart  did  not  know 
that  they  were  approaching  the  scene  of  the  memo 
rable  massacre. 

The  train  now  curved  southward  and  entered  a 
fertile  valley  lying  like  a  bowl  among  the  high  moun 
tains.  They  saw  here  fields  that  had  been  golden 
with  wheat,  ripe  fruit  yet  hung  from  the  trees,  and 
the  touch  of  green  was  still  visible,  although  autumn 
had  come.  By  the  railway  track  a  clear  mountain 
stream  flowed,  sparkling  in  the  thin,  pure  air,  and 
there  was  more  than  one  full-grown  man  in  the  can 
didate's  party  who,  with  memories  of  his  youth  be 
fore  him,  longed  to  pull  off  shoes  and  socks  and  wade 
in  it  with  bare  feet. 

The  sight  was  most  refreshing  after  so  much  moun 
tain  and  arid  expanse,  and  the  tired  travellers  bright 
ened  up  visibly. 

"One  of  the  states  has  the  motto, '  Here  we  rest' — 
I've  forgotten  which  it  is — but  it  ought  to  be  Utah," 
said  Hobart,  "and  now's  the  time." 

He  was  not  disappointed.  They  came  before  noon 
to  Belleville,  the  metropolis  of  the  valley,  the  place 
where  the  candidate  was  going  to  speak,  one  of  the 
prettiest  little  towns  that  ever  built  its  nest  in  the 
Rocky  Mountains.  They  were  all  enthusiastic  over 
it,  with  its  trim  houses,  its  well-paved  streets,  the 
clear  water  flowing  beside  the  curbs,  and  its  air  of 
completion.  The  people,  too,  had  all  the  Western 
courage  and  energy,  without  its  roughness  and  un 
due  expression,  and  so  the  candidate  and  his  party 
luxuriated. 

"You  wouldn't  think  that  this  gem  of  a  town  was 
harried  more  by  Indians  in  its  infancy  than  perhaps 

248 


THE    CANDIDATE 

any  other  place  in  the  West,  would  you  ?"  said  Hobart 
to  Harley. 

"Hobart,  what  a  nuisance  you  are!"  replied  Har 
ley;  "you  are  always  prowling  around  in  search  of 
useless  facts.  Now,  I  don't  want  to  hear  anything 
about  bloodshed  and  massacre,  when  Belleville  is  the 
picture  of  neatness  and  comfort  that  it  is  to-day. 
Look  at  that  little  opera-house  over  there!  You 
couldn't  find  anything  handsomer  in  a  city  of  fifty 
thousand  in  the  East." 

"  Harley,"  said  Hobart,  with  emphasis,  "  I  wouldn't 
have  your  lack  of  curiosity  for  anything  in  the  world," 
and  he  wandered  away  in  disgust  to  pour  his  ancient 
history  into  the  ears  of  a  more  willing  listener. 

At  twilight  they  ate  an  admirable  dinner,  and  then 
Harley,  Hobart,  who  had  returned  from  his  explora 
tions,  Blaisdell,  and  two  or  three  others,  after  their 
custom,  filled  in  the  interval  between  supper  and  the 
speeches  with  a  stroll  through  the  village,  Mr.  Plum- 
mer  going  along  as  a  sort  of  mentor.  The  keeper  of 
the  hotel  informed  them  that  many  of  the  Indians  al 
ready  were  in  town  and  were  "tanking  up."  Har 
ley  found  this  to  be  true,  and  the  red  men  failed  to 
arouse  in  him  either  respect  or  admiration.  If  they 
had  ever  had  any  nobility  of  the  wilderness,  it  was 
gone  now,  and  they  seemed  to  him  a  sodden,  de 
pressed,  and  repellent  race.  A  half-dozen  oj  so,  in 
various  stages  of  drunkenness,  through  whiskey  sur 
reptitiously  obtained,  increased  the  feeling  of  aversion. 

In  the  dusk  they  stumbled  over  a  figure  lying  square 
ly  across  the  path,  and  Harley  drew  back  with  a 
word  of  disgust.  An  old  Indian,  dilapidated  and  in 
the  last  stages  of  intoxication,  was  stretched  out  on 
his  face.  A  local  resident  named  Walker,  who  had 
joined  them,  laughed. 

249 


THE    CANDIDATE 

"That,"  said  he,  "is  a  chief,  a  great  man,  or  at 
least  he  was  once.  It's  old  Flying  Cloud — poetical 
name,  though  he  don't  look  poetical  now  by  a  long 
shot.  Here,  get  out  of  this;  you're  blocking  up  the 
road!" 

With  true  Western  directness  he  administered  a 
kick  to  the  prostrate  form,  but  the  old  chief,  buried 
in  a  sodden  dream,  only  stirred  and  muttered;  then 
the  resident  opened  up  a  battery  of  kicks,  and  pres 
ently  the  Indian  rose  to  his  feet  and  slunk  off,  mut 
tering,  in  the  darkness. 

"They're  no  good  at  all,"  said  Walker.  "Only  a 
lot  of  sots,  whenever  they  get  the  chance." 

But  Harley  was  thinking  of  the  contrast  between 
what  he  had  just  seen  and  what  he  had  imagined 
might  be  the  freedom  and  nobility  of  the  wilderness. 

It  was  a  beautiful  autumn  night,  and  the  candidate 
spoke  in  the  open,  in  the  village  square,  with  the 
mountains  that  circled  about  him  as  his  background. 
Sylvia  Morgan  was  not  among  the  listeners.  Usually 
she  enjoyed  these  speeches  in  the  evening,  with  the 
crowds,  the  enthusiasm,  and  the  encircling  darkness. 
But  to-night  she  would  not  come,  nor  would  she  tell 
the  reason  to  Harley  or  any  of  his  friends.  She 
merely  said  that  she  wished  to  stay  in  her  room  at 
the  hotel. 

The  audience  was  quiet  and  attentive,  and  Harley 
noticed'^here  and  there  on  the  outskirts  the  dark  faces 
of  the  Indians.  They  interested  him  so  much  that 
he  left  the  platform  presently  to  watch  them.  He 
was  wondering  if  they  had  any  conception  at  all  of 
Jimmy  Grayson's  words  or  of  a  Presidential  cam 
paign.  Nor  did  he  gain  any  knowledge  by  his  ex 
amination.  They  listened  gravely,  and  their  faces 
were  without  expression. 

250 


THE    CANDIDATE 

The  nearest  of  them  all  to  the  stand  Harley  recog 
nized  as  the  old  chief,  Flying  Cloud,  whom  Walker 
had  kicked  off  the  sidewalk.  He  seemed  to  have  re 
covered  physical  command  of  himself,  and  stood 
erect.  There  was  a  red  feather  in  his  felt  hat,  and  a 
shawl  in  brilliant  stripes  was  drawn  across  his  shoul 
ders. 

The  candidate  spoke  in  a  specially  happy  vein  that 
night,  and  the  background  of  the  mountains  added 
impressiveness  to  his  words.  To  Harley,  again  the 
analyst,  and  seeking  to  put  himself  in  the  Indian's 
place,  there  was  a  rhythm  and  power  in  what  Jimmy 
Grayson  said,  although  he,  as  an  Indian,  might  not 
understand  a  word.  He  could  interpret  it  as  a  chant 
of  battle  or  victory,  and  such,  he  had  no  doubt,  was 
the  view  of  Flying  Cloud. 

The  chief,  so  Harley  judged,  was  still  half  under 
the  influence  of  drink,  but  he  was  paying  close  at 
tention  to  the  speaker,  and  the  correspondent  at  last 
saw  in  his  eyes  what  he  took  to  be  the  stir  of  some 
emotion.  It  was  a  light,  as  of  memories  of  his  own 
triumphs,  and  the  chief's  figure  began  to  sway  gen 
tly  to  the  music  of  Jimmy  Grayson's  voice.  They  had 
built  a  bonfire  near  the  speaker's  stand,  and  by  its 
flare  Harley  clearly  saw  old  Flying  Cloud  smile. 

Hobart  came  up  at  that  moment,  and,  Harley 
pointed  out  to  him  the  transformation  in  the  old 
chief's  appearance.  Hobart's  opinion  agreed  with 
Harley's. 

"It's  a  battle-song  that  Flying  Cloud  is  hearing," 
he  said.  "It's  Jimmy  Grayson  that's  stirring  him 
up,  though  maybe  the  old  fellow  doesn't  understand 
it  that  way." 

The  speeches  ended  after  a  while,  and  the  people 
began  to  leave.  Presently  only  a  few  were  left  in 

251 


THE    CANDIDATE 

the  square,  and  among  them  was  Harley,  who  felt 
no  touch  of  sleepiness.  He  looked  at  the  quiet  town, 
then  up  at  the  ridges  and  peaks,  crested  with  snow 
and  silhouetted  against  the  moonlit  sky,  and  thought 
again  of  that  little  girl,  alone  with  her  dead  and  in 
the  night  among  the  vast  mountains. 

The  next  moment  he  believed  that  it  was  a  tele 
pathic  feeling,  because  at  his  elbow  was  Sylvia  Mor 
gan  herself,  a  red-striped  shawl  over  her  head  to 
protect  her  from  the  cold,  and  "King"  Plummer, 
who  had  evidently  brought  her  from  the  hotel,  not 
far  away. 

"Are  they  all  gone?"  she  asked. 

"No,"  replied  Harley;  "the  Indians  and  a  few 
more  are  left." 

Harley,  in  the  moonlight,  clearly  saw  her  shiver. 

"I  was  restless,  and  I  could  not  sleep,"  she  said. 
"I  came  out  for  the  sake  of  the  air.  But  I'll  go 
back." 

"No,"  said  Harley,  "don't  go.  Stay  with  us, 
please.  Now  what  can  that  mean?" 

A  wild,  barbaric  chant  arose  near  the  bonfire  be 
hind  them. 

"Come!"  exclaimed  Harley,  keen  to  see  and  hear. 
"I  think  it's  old  Flying  Cloud,  and  he's  ready  to  turn 
himself  loose.  We  can't  miss  this!" 

Sylvia  was  about  to  turn  away,  but  as  "King" 
Plummer  came  up  on  the  other  side  of  her,  and 
seemed  to  have  a  curiosity  like  Harley's,  she  yielded 
at  last,  though  with  reluctance,  and  the  three  walked 
towards  the  fire. 

Harley's  surmise  was  correct,  as  old  Flying  Cloud, 
jumping  back  and  forth,  was  singing  some  kind  of 
war-song.  There  was  a  group  about  him,  and  in  it 
was  Hobart,  who  Harley  guessed  had  been  a  moving 

252 


THE    CANDIDATE 

spirit  in  this  scene.  Jimmy  Grayson's  fire  and 
eloquence  had  done  the  rest. 

The  flames  burned  down  a  little,  but  they  cast  a 
weird  light  on  the  old  chief's  face,  bringing  out  like 
brown  carving  the  high  cheek  -  bones,  the  great, 
hooked  nose,  and  the  seamed  cheeks.  The  thin  lips 
fell  away  from  long,  yellow  teeth,  and  heightened 
the  effect  of  cruelty  which  his  whole  expression 
gave. 

Hobart  came  over  to  them,  and  said:  "See  how 
the  old  fellow  is  changing!  We've  got  him  to  sing 
one  of  his  ancient  war-songs,  and  I  guess  he  thinks 
he's  beating  Jimmy  Gray  son  now!" 

Sylvia  Morgan  shuddered,  but  she  said  nothing. 
She  seemed  to  be  held  by  the  fascination  of  the  ser 
pent. 

The  chief  continued  to  make  his  queer  little  jumps 
back  and  forth,  and  went  on  with  his  chant.  As  he 
had  begun  in  English  for  his  auditors,  so  he  con 
tinued,  although  he  was  now  oblivious  of  their  pres 
ence.  Harley,  watching  him,  knew  it,  and  he  knew, 
too,  that  the  chief's  mind  was  far  back  in  the  past. 
His  was  not  the  song  of  the  broken  derelict,  but  of 
the  barbarous  and  triumphant  warrior,  and  as  he 
sang  he  gathered  fire  and  strength. 

The  circle  of  white  faces  grew  around  the  old  chief. 
Every  loiterer  was  there,  and  others  came  back.  Not 
one  spoke.  All  were  fascinated  by  the  singular  and 
weird  scene.  The  moon,  low  down  on  the  moun 
tain's  crest,  still  shed  a  pallid,  grayish  light  that 
mingled  with  the  fitful  red  glare  from  the  glowing 
coals,  the  two  together  casting  an  unearthly  tinge. 
But  Harley's  eyes  never  left  the  chief,  as  he  saw  his 
figure  continue  to  expand  and  grow  with  ancient 
memories  of  prowess,  and  the  eyes  of  Sylvia  beside 

253 


THE    CANDIDATE 

him,  as  she  too  listened,  expressed  many  and  strong 
emotions. 

Flying  Cloud  told  of  hunting  triumphs,  of  the 
slaughter  of  the  buffalo,  of  fierce  encounters  with  the 
mountain-lion,  of  hand-to-hand  combat  with  the 
grizzly  bear,  and  then  he  glided  into  war.  Now  his 
voice  rose,  full  and  prolonged,  without  any  of  the 
tremor  or  shrillness  of  age,  and  his  eccentric  danc 
ing  grew  more  violent.  His  emotions,  too,  were 
shown  on  his  face  in  all  their  savagery  as  he  told  of 
the  foray  and  the  fight. 

At  first  it  was  Indian  against  Indian,  and  never  was 
any  mercy  shown — always  woe  to  the  conquered ;  then 
it  was  the  whites.  An  emigrant  train  was  coming  over 
the  mountains — men,  women,  and  children.  There 
was  danger  in  their  path ;  a  Ute  war-band  was  abroad, 
but  the  fools  knew  it  not.  They  travelled  on,  and 
at  night  the  children  played  and  laughed  by  the 
camp-fire,  but  the  shadow  of  the  Utes  was  always 
there.  Flying  Cloud  led  the  war -band,  but  held 
them  back  until  the  time  should  come.  He  was  wait 
ing  for  a  place  that  he  knew.  At  last  they  reached 
it,  a  deep  canon  with  bushes  on  either  side,  and  the 
train  entered  the  defile. 

Harley  suddenly  felt  a  hand  upon  his  arm.  It 
was  the  fingers  of  Sylvia  grasping  him,  but  uncon 
scious  of  the  act.  He  looked  up  and  saw  her  face 
as  white  as  death,  and  a  yard  away  the  eyes  of 
"King"  Plummer  were  burning  like  two  coals. 

Flying  Cloud's  figure  swayed,  and  his  voice  trem 
bled  with  a  curious  joy  at  the  old  memories.  He 
was  approaching  the  great  moment  of  triumph.  He 
told  how  the  warriors  lay  among  the  bushes,  watching 
the  foolish  train  come  on,  how  they  looked  at  each 
other  and  rejoiced  in  advance  over  an  easy  victory. 

254 


THE    CANDIDATE 

Some  would  have  fired  too  soon,  but  Flying  Cloud 
would  not  let  them.  His  was  the  cunning  mind,  as 
well  as  the  bold  heart,  and  he  omitted  nothing. 
The  trap  was  perfect.  The  fools  never  suspected. 
They  stopped  to  make  a  camp,  and  still  they  did  not 
know  that  a  ring  of  death  was  about  them.  They 
built  their  fires,  and  again  the  children  laughed  and 
played  by  the  coals.  It  was  the  last  time. 

The  old  chief  was  now  wholly  the  wilderness  slay 
er,  the  Indian  of  an  earlier  time.  His  glittering  eyes 
at  times  swept  the  circle  of  white  faces  about  him,  but 
he  did  not  see  them,  only  that  old  massacre. 

The  narrative  went  on.  Flying  Cloud  told  each  of 
his  warriors  to  select  a  victim,  and  fire  true  when  he 
gave  the  word.  He  chose  for  himself  a  large  man 
who  stood  by  one  of  the  wagons,  a  man  who  had  with 
him  a  woman  and  a  little  boy  and  a  little  girl,  and 
the  little  girl  had  long  curls. 

A  groan  burst  from  Plummer,  and  Harley  saw  his 
great  figure  gather  as  if  for  a  spring.  But  Harley, 
quick  as  lightning,  seized  the  man  in  a  powerful 
grasp,  and  cried  in  his  ear:  "Not  now,  Mr.  Plummer, 
not  now,  for  God's  sake!  Wait  until  the  end!" 

Harley  felt  the  "King"  quiver  in  his  hands,  and 
then  cease  to  struggle.  Sylvia  stood  by,  still  as 
white  as  death  and  absolutely  motionless.  The 
others,  held  by  the  old  chief's  song,  did  not  see  nor 
hear. 

Flying  Cloud's  eyes  were  glittering  with  cruel  tri 
umph  as  he  continued  his  chant.  The  rifles  were 
raised,  the  white  fools  yet  suspected  nothing,  but 
laughed  and  jested  with  each  other  as  if  there  would 
be  a  to-morrow. 

Then  he  gave  the  word,  and  all  the  rifles  were  fired 
at  once.  The  canon  was  filled  with  smoke  and  the 

255 


THE    CANDIDATE 

whistling  of  bullets.  Most  of  the  men  in  the  train 
were  killed  at  once,  and  then  the  warriors  sprang 
among  those  who  were  left.  Flying  Cloud  had  shot 
the  tall  man  by  the  wagon,  and  then  he  sought  the 
woman  and  the  two  children.  He  slew  the  woman 
and  the  little  boy,  and  he  scalped  them  both.  Then 
he  sprang  at  the  girl,  but  the  child  of  the  Evil  Spirit 
slipped  among  the  bushes,  and  he  could  not  find  her. 

The  old  chief  stopped  a  moment,  and  once  more 
his  glittering  eyes  swept  the  circle  of  white  faces, 
but  saw  them  not.  Then  that  fierce  cry  burst  again 
from  Plummer.  Suddenly  he  threw  off  Harley  as 
if  he  had  been  a  child,  and  sprang  through  the  ring 
of  white  faces  into  the  circle  of  the  firelight.  The 
tall,  pale  girl,  still  not  saying  a  word,  stood  by,  like 
an  avenging  goddess. 

"Murderer!"  cried  the  "King."  "It  is  not  too 
late  to  punish  you!" 

He  seized  the  old  chief  by  the  throat,  but  the  white 
men  threw  themselves  upon  him  and  tore  him  off. 

Flying  Cloud  reeled  back,  gazed  a  moment  at 
Plummer,  and  then  drew  a  knife. 

"It  was  when  there  was  war  between  us,  and  I 
will  not  swing  at  the  end  of  the  white  man's  rope," 
he  said. 

So  speaking,  he  plunged  the  blade  into  his  own 
heart  and  fell  dead,  almost  at  the  feet  of  the  woman 
whose  kin  he  had  slain. 

"Whatever  the  red  scoundrel  was,"  said  Hobart, 
later,  "I  shall  always  use  the  old  text  for  him,  and 
say  that  nothing  in  this  life  became  him  like  the 
leaving  of  it." 

But  there  were  no  such  feelings  in  the  heart  of 
Sylvia  Morgan.  When  "King"  Plummer  sprang 
upon  Flying  Cloud,  Harley  turned  involuntarily  to 

256 


THE    CANDIDATE 

Sylvia,  and  he  saw  the  pallor  replaced  by  a  sudden 
flush ;  then,  when  the  chief  slew  himself  with  his  own 
knife,  the  flush  passed,  and  whiter  than  ever  she  sank 
down  gently.  But  Harley  caught  her  in  his  arms 
before  she  fell,  and  in  a  moment  or  two  she  revived. 
It  seemed  to  be  her  first  thought  that  she  was  held 
by  him,  and  she  struggled  a  little. 

"Let  me  go,"  she  said;  "I  can  stand.  I  assure 
you  I  can.  It  was  just  a  passing  weakness." 

But  Harley  wished  to  make  certain  that  it  was  not 
more  than  that  before  he  released  her,  and  the  friend 
ly  darkness  and  the  interest  of  the  crowd  centred 
on  Flying  Cloud  aided  him.  A  minute  later  Mrs. 
Grayson  and  the  wife  of  a  local  political  leader, 
Mrs.  Meadows,  took  her  from  him  and  carried  her  to 
the  hotel.  Mrs.  Grayson,  who  had  heard  the  chief's 
chant,  understood  the  story,  but  Mrs.  Meadows,  who 
knew  nothing  of  Sylvia's  relation  to  it,  but  who 
guessed  something  from  the  talk  of  the  others,  was 
devoured  by  curiosity.  However,  she  prevailed  over 
it,  for  the  time,  and  was  silent  as  she  went  with 
Sylvia  back  to  the  hotel,  although  she  made  a  vow 
which  she  kept  —  that  she  would  find  out  the  full 
truth  in  the  morning. 

Harley  lingered  a  little  by  the  firelight  and  joined 
Hobart  and  the  crowd.  The  tragedy  had  cut  deep 
into  his  thoughts — and  he  did  not  care  to  talk,  but 
the  others  had  plenty  to  say. 

"What  a  singular  coincidence,"  said  Tremaine, 
stroking  his  fine,  white,  pointed  mustache,  of  which 
he  was  very  proud.  "I  call  it  very  remarkable  that 
this  savage  should  have  told  the  story  of  that  old 
tragedy  the  very  night  when  the  only  survivor  of 
it  was  present." 

"I  do  not  call  it  remarkable  at  all,"  said  Hobart. 
257 


THE   CANDIDATE 

"It  is  not  even  a  coincidence  in  the  usual  meaning 
of  the  word.  It  came  about  naturally,  each  chapter 
in  the  story  being  the  logical  sequence  of  the  chapter 
that  preceded  it." 

"It  may  all  be  very  clear  to  a  man  like  you,  one 
who  makes  a  study  of  crime  and  mysteries,"  said 
Tremaine,  ironically,  as  he  gave  his  mustache  an 
impatient  tug,  "but  it  is  far  from  being  so  to  me. 
I  still  call  it  a  coincidence." 

"That  is  because  you  haven't  taken  time  to  think 
about  it,  Tremaine.  Your  mind  is  entirely  too  good 
to  accept  such  a  theory  as  coincidence.  In  the  first 
place,  Mr.  Grayson  is  making  a  thorough  tour  of  the 
West,  all  the  more  thorough  because  these  are  sup 
posed  to  be  doubtful  states.  Now  what  more  natural 
than  his  coming  to  Belleville,  which  is  one  of  the 
most  important  towns  in  northern  Utah,  and,  having 
come,  what  more  probable  than  the  presence  of  the 
Indians  at  his  speech,  because  such  attractions  are 
rare  in  Belleville,  and  the  Indian  would  come  to  see 
what  it  is  that  stirs  up  so  much  his  white  friend  and 
brother.  Of  course,  the  Indian  in  his  degenerate 
days,  would  take  the  chance  to  get  drunk,  and,  being 
in  a  whiskey  stupor,  he  naturally  supposed  that  Mr. 
Grayson  was  chanting  a  chant  of  victory,  and  quite 
as  naturally  he  chanted  in  return  his  own  chant,  and 
also  quite  as  naturally  this  chant  was  about  the 
deed  that  he  considered  the  greatest  of  his  life.  So, 
there  you  are;  the  chain  is  complete,  the  result  is 
natural;  any  other  result  would  have  been  unnat 
ural." 

Tremaine  laughed. 

"You  have  worked  it  out  pretty  well,  Hobart," 
he  said,  "but  I  have  my  own  opinion." 

"You  are  entitled  to  it,"  rejoined  Hobart,  briskly, 
258 


THE   CANDIDATE 

"but  be  sure  you  keep  it  to  yourself,  and  then  you 
won't  suffer  from  the  criticisms  of  the  intelligent." 

Tremaine  laughed  good-naturedly,  and  then  avow 
ed  his  concern  about  that  beautiful  girl,  Miss  Morgan, 
who  suddenly  and  under  such  peculiar  circumstances 
had  been  brought  face  to  face  with  the  slayer  of  her 
people;  he  had  perceived  from  the  first  her  noble 
qualities,  and  he  felt  for  her  the  deepest  sympathy. 
Tremaine,  while  a  great  lover  of  the  ladies,  had  in 
reality  less  perception  than  any  of  the  others  in 
affairs  of  the  heart.  He  was,  perhaps,  the  only  one 
in  the  group  who  did  not  know  what  was  going  on, 
and  for  that  reason  he  talked  at  length  of  Sylvia, 
no  one  being  able  to  stop  him.  He  thought  it  a  pity 
that  Sylvia  should  be  wasted  on  "King"  Plummer, 
who  was  a  good  man,  a  fine  old  Roman  soul,  but  then 
he  had  his  doubts  about  Sylvia's  love  for  him — that 
is,  as  a  husband.  Mr.  Plummer  was  too  old  for  her. 
Tremaine,  by  a  curious  inconsistency,  never  look 
ed  upon  himself  as  old,  and  thought  it  perfectly 
natural  that  he  should  carry  on  a  mild  flirtation  with 
any  girl,  provided  she  be  handsome,  although  young 
enough  to  be  his  daughter. 

Harley  was  uneasy,  and  would  have  left  them  had 
not  the  act  called  attention  to  himself  too  pointedly, 
and  he  was  forced  to  listen  to  Tremaine's  rambling 
comment,  knowing  that  all  the  others  had  him  in 
their  thoughts  as  they  heard.  Fortunately,  Tre 
maine  did  not  require  any  comment  from  others, 
preferring  an  unbroken  stream  of  his  own  talk,  and 
Harley  was  able  to  regain  his  hotel  in  silence. 

They  were  confronted  the  next  morning  by  an  an 
nouncement  that  sent  sorrow  through  the  whole 
group.  Mrs.  Grayson  felt  that  the  events  of  the 
night  before  were  too  much  for  a  young  girl,  and 

259 


THE    CANDIDATE 

unless  she  were  removed  for  a  time  to  quieter  scenes 
and  a  less  arduous  life  they  would  leave  lasting  ef 
fects.  Moreover,  the  campaign  was  about  to  enter 
upon  a  phase  in  which  women  would  prove  burden 
some,  hence  she  and  Sylvia  were  going  to  Salt  Lake 
City  for  a  stay  of  two  weeks,  and  then  they  would 
rejoin  the  party  at  some  point  in  the  Northwest. 

It  was  with  no  counterfeit  grief  that  they  heard 
this  news.  The  ladies  had  added  brightness  and 
variety  to  a  most  toilsome  campaign,  and  their  daily 
travel  would  seem  very  black  indeed  without  them. 
Even  Churchill  was  loud  in  his  regrets,  because 
Churchill  had  some  of  the  instincts  of  a  gentleman, 
and  he  never  failed  in  what  was  due  to  Mrs.  Gray- 
son  and  Sylvia.  But  he  could  not  keep  from  making 
one  nasty  little  stab  at  Harley. 

"Harley,"  he  said,  "do  you  know  that  they  are 
going  to  have  a  very  stalwart  escort  to  Salt  Lake?" 

"I  do  not,"  replied  Harley,  in  some  surprise.  "I 
think  they  are  quite  able  to  take  care  of  themselves." 

"Perhaps  they  are,  but  'King'  Plummer  is  going 
with  them,  nevertheless.  At  his  age  it  is  well  for  a 
man  to  keep  watch  over  a  young  girl  whom  he  ex 
pects  to  marry,  or  some  husky  youth  may  carry  her 
off." 

Harley  was  surprised  at  the  strength  of  his  desire 
to  strike  Churchill  in  the  face,  and  he  was  also  sur 
prised  at  the  fact  that  he  resisted  it.  He  accounted 
for  it  by  his  theory  that  Churchill  could  not  help 
being  mean  at  times,  and,  therefore,  was  not  wholly 
responsible.  So  he  contented  himself  with  saying: 

"Churchill,  you  are  a  fool  now  and  then,  but  you 
never  know  it." 

Then  he  walked  carelessly  away  before  Churchill 
had  made  up  his  mind  whether  to  get  angry  or  to, 

260 


THE    CANDIDATE 

return  a  sarcastic  reply.  Churchill  liked  to  use  sar 
casm,  as  it  made  him  feel  superior. 

But  Harley  was  much  disturbed  by  Churchill's 
statement.  Sylvia  was  going  away,  and  her  stay  of 
two  weeks  might  lengthen  into  months  or  become 
permanent.  And  Mr.  Plummer  was  going  with  her. 
Harley's  own  absence  would  put  him  at  a  great  dis 
advantage,  and  for  a  moment  he  suspected  that  this 
stop  at  Salt  Lake  City  was  an  artful  movement  on 
the  part  of  the  "King,"  but  reflection  made  him  ac 
quit  Mr.  Plummer,  first,  because  the  "King"  was  too 
honest  to  do  such  a  thing,  and,  second,  because  he 
was  not  subtle  enough  to  think  of  it. 

While  he  was  planning  what  he  would  do  to  face 
this  unforeseen  development,  a  boy  trom  the  hotel 
handed  him  a  note.  Harley's  heart  jumped  when 
he  saw  that  it  was  in  the  handwriting  of  Sylvia  Mor 
gan,  and  it  fluttered  still  further  when  she  asked  to 
see  him  in  the  hotel  parlor  for  a  few  minutes.  He 
was  apprehensive,  too,  because  if  she  had  anything 
good  to  tell  him  she  certainly  would  not  send  for 
him. 

Sylvia  was  sitting  in  the  parlor  beside  a  window 
that  looked  out  upon  a  vast  range  of  snow-covered 
mountains,  rising  like  the  serrated  teeth  of  a  saw, 
and,  although  she  heard  his  footsteps,  she  did  not 
turn  her  face  until  Harley  stood  beside  her.  Then 
she  said,  irrelevantly: 

"Isn't  that  a  grand  view!" 

"You  did  not  send  for  me  to  tell  me  that,"  said 
Harley,  with  a  certain  protecting  tenderness  in  his 
tone,  because  what  he  took  to  be  the  sadness  in  her 
face  appealed  to  his  manly  qualities. 

"No,  I  did  not.  I  have  been  thinking  over  what 
we  said  to  each  other  when  we  were  coming  back 

$6) 


THE    CANDIDATE 

from  Crow's  Wing,  and  I  have  concluded  that  it  was 
wrong." 

"Why  was  it  wrong?  I  love  you,  and  I  had  the 
right  to  tell  you  so." 

"No,  you  did  not.  You  would  have  had  were  I 
free,  but  I  am  promised  to  another.  I  was  wrong 
to  let  you  speak;  I  was  wrong  to  listen  to  you." 

"I  will  not  admit  it,"  said  Harley,  doggedly,  "be 
cause  Mr.  Plummer  is  going  to  give  you  up.  He 
will  see  that  he  ought  not  to  hold  you  to  this  prom 
ise." 

She  smiled  sadly. 

"I  must  be  loyal  to  him,"  she  said,  "and  before 
starting  for  Salt  Lake  City  I  want  to  tell  you  that 
you  must  not  again  speak  to  me  of  this." 

"But  I  shall  write  to  you  in  Salt  Lake." 

"You  must  not  write  of  this.  If  you  do,  I  will 
not  open  another  one  of  your  letters." 

"I  promise  not  to  write  to  you  of  love,  but  I  make 
no  promise  after  that.  You  are  not  going  from  Salt 
Lake  to  Idaho?  This  is  not  an  excuse  to  leave  us 
for  good?" 

Her  eyes  wavered  before  his.  It  may  be  that  she 
had  intended  to  abandon  the  campaign  permanently, 
but,  with  his  straight  and  masterful  glance  demand 
ing  an  honest  answer,  she  could  not  say  it. 

"Yes,  I  will  come  back,"  she  said,  and  then,  with  a 
sudden  burst  of  feeling:  "Oh,  I  like  your  group;  I 
like  all  of  you.  This  great  journey  has  been  some 
thing  fresh  and  wonderful  to  me,  and  I  do  not  want 
to  leave  it!" 

"I  thought  not,"  said  Harley,  with  returning  con 
fidence,  "and  I  am  glad  that  you  sent  for  me  here, 
because  it  has  given  me  a  chance  to  tell  you  that, 
while  you  mean  to  keep  your  promise,  I  also  mean 

362 


THE   CANDIDATE 

to  keep  mine.  Mr.  Plummer  will  yet  yield  you  up. 
You  are  mine,  not  his,  you  know  you  are!" 

He  bent  suddenly  and  kissed  her  lightly  on  the  fore 
head,  and  every  nerve  in  her  tingled  at  the  first 
touch  of  the  lips  of  the  man  whom  she  loved.  Yet 
with  the  sense  of  right,  of  loyalty  to  another,  strong 
within  her,  she  was  about  to  protest,  but  he  was 
gone,  and  the  first  kiss  still  tingled  on  her  fore 
head.  She  felt  as  if  he  had  put  there  an  invisible 
seal,  and  that  now  in  very  truth  she  belonged  to 
him. 

The  two  ladies  under  the  escort  of  Mr.  Plummer 
left  an  hour  later  for  Salt  Lake  City,  and  everybody 
was  at  the  station  to  see  them  go.  Mrs.  Grayson 
was  quiet  as  usual,  and  Sylvia  was  noticeably  sub 
dued,  a  fact  which  most  of  them  ascribed  to  the 
tragedy  of  Flying  Cloud  and  her  coming  absence 
of  two  weeks  from  a  most  interesting  campaign. 

"You  ought  to  cheer  up,  Miss  Sylvia,"  said  Ho- 
bart,  "because  you  are  not  half  as  unlucky  as  we 
are.  You  can  spare  us  much  more  easily  than  we 
can  spare  you." 

"I  am  really  sorry  that  I  must  go,"  she  said,  sin 
cerely. 

"But  you  will  come  back  to  us?" 

"I  have  promised  to  do  so." 

"That  is  enough;  we  know  that  you  will  keep  a 
promise,  Miss  Sylvia." 

Sylvia  at  first  would  not  look  at  Harley.  His  kiss 
still  burned  upon  her  brow,  and  she  yet  felt  that  it 
was  his  seal,  his  claim  upon  her.  And  her  conscience 
hurt  her  for  it,  because  there  was  "King"  Plummer, 
strong,  protecting,  and  overflowing  with  love  for  her 
and  faith  in  her.  But  as  she  was  telling  them  all 
good-bye  she  was  forced  to  say  it  to  Harley,  too,  in 

263 


THE    CANDIDATE 

his  turn,  and  when  he  took  her  hand  he  pressed  it 
ever  so  little,  and  said,  for  her  ear  only: 

"I  am  still  hoping.     I  refuse  to  give  you  up." 

She  retreated  quickly  into  the  Salt  Lake  car  to 
hide  her  blush. 

When  they  saw  the  last  smoke  of  the  train  melt 
ing  into  the  blue  sky,  Harley  and  Mr.  Heathcote 
walked  back  to  the  hotel  together.  A  strong  friend 
ship  had  grown  up  between  these  two,  and  each 
valued  the  other's  opinion. 

"A  fine  woman,"  said  Mr.  Heathcote,  looking 
towards  the  silky  blue  of  the  sky  where  the  smoke 
had  been. 

"Yes,  Mrs.  Grayson  has  always  impressed  me  as 
a  woman  of  great  dignity  and  strength,"  said  Harley, 
purposely  misunderstanding  him. 

"That  is  apparent,  but  I  was  not  speaking  of  her. 
I  meant  Miss  Morgan;  she  seems  to  me  to  be  of  a 
rare  and  noble  type.  The  man  who  gets  her,  who 
ever  he  may  be,  ought  to  think  himself  lucky." 

Harley  noticed  that  Mr.  Heathcote  did  not  take 
it  for  granted  that  "King"  Plummer  would  get  her, 
but  he  said  nothing  in  reply. 


XVII 

THE     SPELLBINDER 

Atf  hour  after  the  smoke  of  the  Salt  Lake  train 
was  lost  in  the  blue  sky,  the  special  car  bear 
ing  the  candidate  whirled  off  in  another  direction, 
deep  into  the  wonderland  of  the  mountains.  Now 
white  peaks  were  on  one  side  and  mighty  chasms 
on  the  other;  then  both  chasm  and  peak  were  lost 
behind  them,  and  they  shot  through  an  irrigated 
valley,  brown  with  the  harvest,  neat  villages  snuggling 
in  the  centre.  But  always,  whether  near  or  far,  the 
mountains  were  around  them,  blue  on  the  middle 
slopes,  white  at  the  crests,  unless  those  crests  were 
lost  in  the  clouds  and  mists. 

The  people  in  the  car  were  more  quiet  than  usual, 
the  candidate  absorbed  in  somewhat  sad  thoughts, 
the  state  politicians  respecting  his  silence,  and  the 
correspondents  planning  their  despatches.  But  all 
missed  Mrs.  Grayson  and  Miss  Morgan,  who,  whether 
they  talked  or  not,  always  contributed  brightness 
and  a  gentler  note  to  their  long  campaign.  "King" 
Plummer,  too,  with  his  loud  laugh  and  his  large, 
sincere  manner,  left  a  vacancy.  Every  one  felt  that 
there  was  now  nothing  ahead  but  business — cold, 
hard  business — and  so  it  proved. 

Every  campaign  enters  upon  successive  phases,  in 
which  the  contestants  advance,  through  politeness  and 
consideration,  first  to  wary  feint  and  parry,  and 

365 


THE    CANDIDATE 

then  to  the  stern  death-grip  of  the  battle  which  can 
mean  nothing  but  the  victory  of  one  and  the  defeat 
of  the  other.  They  were  now  approaching  this  last 
stage,  and  great  piles  of  Eastern  newspapers,  which 
reached  them  in  Utah,  reflected  all  the  progress  of 
the  combat. 

It  was  obvious  to  all  of  those  skilled  readers  and 
interpreters  that  the  breach  within  the  party  was 
widening,  and  that  this  breach  could  become  a  chasm 
before  the  election.  The  Monitor  and  other  papers, 
the  chosen  or  self-appointed  champions  of  vested  in 
terests,  were  almost  openly  in  revolt;  in  Harley's 
mind  their  course  amounted  to  the  same  thing;  they 
printed  in  their  news  columns  many  things  deroga 
tory  to  Grayson,  and  likely  to  shatter  public  faith 
in  his  judgment,  and  in  nearly  all  of  them  appeared 
signed  contributions  from  members  of  the  wealthy 
faction  led  by  the  Honorable  Mr.  Goodnight,  at 
tacking  every  speech  made  by  the  candidate,  and 
intimating  that  he  was  a  greater  danger  to  the  coun 
try  than  the  nominee  of  the  other  side. 

"The  split  will  have  to  come,"  was  Harley's  mut 
tered  comment,  "and  the  sooner  the  better  for  us." 

The  journals  of  the  rival  party  were  a  singular  con 
trast  to  those  of  Grayson's  side,  as  they  expressed 
unbounded  and  sincere  confidence.  In  all  that  had 
occurred  they  could  not  read  anything  but  victory 
for  them,  and  Harley  was  bound  to  admit  that  their 
exultation  was  justified. 

But  amid  all  these  troubles  the  'candidate  pre 
served  his  remarkable  amiability  of  disposition,  and 
Harley  witnessed  another  proof  that  he  was  a  man 
first  and  a  statesman  afterwards. 

The  train  was  continually  thronged  with  local 
politicians  and  others  anxious  to  see  Mr.  Grayson, 

266 


and  at  a  little  station  in  a  plain  that  seemed  to  have 
no  end  they  picked  up  three  men,  one  of  whom  at 
tracted  Harley's  notice  at  once.  He  was  young, 
only  twenty  four  or  five,  with  a  bright,  quick,  eager 
face,  and  he  was  not  dressed  in  the  usual  careless 
Western  fashion.  His  trousers  were  carefully  creased, 
his  white  shirt  was  Well-laundered,  and  his  tie  was 
neat.  But  he  wore  that  strange  combination — not 
so  strange  west  of  the  Mississippi — a  sack-coat  and 
a  silk-hat  at  the  same  time. 

The  youth  was  not  at  all  shy,  and  he  early  ob 
tained  an  introduction  to  Mr.  Grayson.  Harley 
thus  learned  that  his  name  was  Moore — Charles 
Moore,  or  Charlie  Moore,  as  those  with  him  called 
.him.  Most  men  in  the  West,  unless  of  special  prom 
inence,  when  presented  to  Jimmy  Grayson,  shook 
hands  warmly,  exchanged  a  word  or  two  on  any 
convenient  topic,  and  then  gave  way  to  others,  but 
this  fledgling  sought  to  hold  him  in  long  converse 
on  the  most  vital  questions  of  the  campaign. 

"That  was  a  fine  speech  of  yours  that  you  made 
at  Butte,  Mr.  Grayson,"  he  said,  in  the  most  impul 
sive  manner,  "and  I  endorse  every  word  of  it,  but 
are  you  sure  that  what  you  said  about  Canadian 
reciprocity  will  help  our  party  in  the  great  wheat 
states,  such  as  Minnesota  and  the  Dakotas?" 

The  candidate  stared  at  him  at  first  in  surprise 
and  some  displeasure,  but  in  a  moment  or  two  his 
gaze  was  changed  into  a  kindly  smile.  He  read  well 
the  youth  before  him,  his  amusing  confidence,  his 
eagerness,  and  his  self-importance,  that  had  not  yet 
received  a  rude  check. 

"There  is  something  in  what  you  say,  Mr.  Moore," 
replied  Jimmy  Grayson,  in  that  tone  absolutely  with 
out  condescension  that  made  every  man  his  friend; 

267 


THE    CANDIDATE 

"but  I  have  considered  it,  and  I  think  it  is  better  for 
me  to  stick  to  my  text.  Besides,  I  am  right,  you 
know." 

"Ah,  yes,  but  that  is  not  the  point,"  exclaimed 
young  Mr.  Moore;  "one  may  be  right,  but  one  might 
keep  silent  on  a  doubtful  point  that  is  likely  to  in 
fluence  many  votes.  And  there  are  several  things 
in  your  speeches,  Mr.  Grayson,  with  which  some  of 
us  do  not  agree.  I  shall  have  occasion  to  address 
the  public  concerning  them — as  you  know,  a  number 
of  us  are  to  speak  with  you  while  you  are  passing 
through  Utah." 

There  was  a  flash  in  Jimmy  Grayson's  eye,  but 
Harley  could  not  tell  whether  it  expressed  anger  or 
amused  contempt.  It  was  gone  in  a  moment,  how 
ever,  and  the  candidate  again  was  looking  at  the 
fledgling  with  a  kindly,  smiling,  and  tolerant  gaze. 
But  Churchill  thrust  his  elbow  against  Harley. 

"Oh,  the  child  of  the  free  and  bounding  West!" 
he  murmured.  "What  innocence,  and  what  a  sense 
of  majesty  and  power!" 

Harley  did  not  deign  a  reply,  but  he  made  the 
acquaintance,  by  -  and  -  by,  of  the  men  who  had 
joined  the  train  with  Moore.  One  of  these  was  a 
county  judge  named  Basset,  sensible  and  middle- 
aged,  and  he  talked  freely  about  the  fledgling,  whom 
he  seemed  to  have  in  a  measure  on  his  mind.  He 
laughed  at  first  when  he  spoke  of  the  subject,  but  he 
soon  became  serious. 

"Charlie  is  a  good  boy,  but  what  do  you  think  he 
is?  Or,  rather,  what  do  you  think  he  thinks  he  is?" 

"I  don't  know,"  replied  Harley. 

"Charlie  thinks  he's  a  spellbinder,  the  greatest 
ever.  He's  dreaming  by  night,  and  by  day,  too,  that 
he's  to  be  the  West's  most  wonderful  orator,  and 

268 


THE    CANDIDATE 

that  he's  to  hold  the  thousands  in  his  spell.  He's  a 
coming  Henry  Clay  and  Daniel  Webster  rolled  into 
one.  He's  read  that  story  about  Demosthenes  hold 
ing  the  pebble  in  his  mouth  to  make  himself  talk 
good,  and  they  do  say  that  he  slips  away  out  on  the 
prairie,  where  there's  nobody  about,  and  with  a  stone 
in  his  mouth  tries  to  beat  the  old  Greek  at  his  own 
game.  I  don't  vouch  for  the  truth  of  the  story,  but 
I  believe  it." 

Harley  could  not  keep  from  smiling. 

"Well,  it's  at  least  an  honest  ambition,"  he  said. 

"I  don't  know  about  that,"  replied  the  judge, 
doubtfully.  "Not  in  Charlie's  case,  because  as  a 
spellbinder  he  isn't  worth  shucks.  He  can't  speak, 
and  he'll  never  learn  to  do  it.  Besides,  he's  leaving 
a  thing  he  was  just  made  for  to  chase  a  rainbow, 
and  it's  breaking  his  old  daddy's  heart." 

"  What  is  it  that  he  was  made  for?" 

"He's  a  born  telegraph-operator.  He's  one  of  the 
best  ever  known  in  the  West.  They  say  that  at 
eighteen  he  was  the  swiftest  in  Colorado.  Then  he 
went  down  to  Denver,  and  a  month  ago  he  gave  up 
a  job  there  that  was  paying  him  a  hundred  and  fifty 
a  month  to  start  this  foolishness.  They  say  he 
might  be  a  great  inventor,  too,  and  here  he  is  trying 
to  speak  on  politics  when  he  doesn't  know  anything 
about  public  questions,  and  he  doesn't  know  how  to 
talk,  either;  I  don't  know  whether  to  be  mad  about 
it  or  just  to  feel  sorry,  because  Charlie's  father  is  an 
old  friend  of  mine." 

Harley  shared  his  feelings.  He  had  seen  the 
round  peg  in  the  square  hole  so  many  times  with  bad 
results  to  both  the  peg  and  the  hole  that  every  fresh 
instance  grieved  him.  He  was  also  confirmed  in  the 
soundness  of  Judge  Basset's  opinion  by  his  obser- 

269 


THE   CANDIDATE 

vation  of  young  Moore  as  the  journey  proceeded. 
The  new  spellbinder  was  anxious  to  speak  when 
ever  there  was  an  occasion,  and  often  when  there 
was  none  at  all.  The  discouragement  and  even  the 
open  rebukes  of  his  elders  could  not  suppress  him. 
The  correspondents,  comparing  notes,  decided  that 
they  had  never  before  seen  so  strong  a  rage  for  speak 
ing.  He  took  the  whole  field  of  public  affairs  for 
his  range.  He  was  willing  at  any  time  to  discuss  the 
tariff,  internal  revenue,  finance,  and  foreign  relations, 
and  avowed  himself  master  of  all  Yet  Harley  saw 
that  he  was  in  these  affairs  a  perfect  child,  shallow 
and  superficial,  and  depending  wholly  upon  a  few 
catchwords  that  he  had  learned  from  others.  Even 
the  former  Populists  turned  from  him.  But  their 
sour  faces  when  he  spoke  taught  him  nothing.  He 
was  still,  to  himself,  the  great  spellbinder,  and  he 
looked  forward  to  the  day  when  he,  too,  a  nominee 
for  the  Presidency,  should  charm  multitudes  with 
his  eloquence  and  logic.  He  had  no  hesitation  in 
confiding  his  hopes  to  Harley,  and  the  correspond 
ent  longed  to  tell  him  how  he  misjudged  himself. 
Yet  he  refrained,  knowing  that  it  was  not  his  duty; 
and  that  even  if  it  were,  his  words  would  make  no 
impression. 

But  in  other  matters  than  those  of  public  life  and 
oratory  Jimmy  Grayson's  people  found  young  Moore 
likable  enough.  He  was  helpful  on  the  train;  now 
and  then  when  the  telegraph  -  operators  had  more 
material  than  they  could  handle,  he  gave  them  .val 
uable  aid;  he  was  a  fine  comrade,  taking  good  luck 
and  bad  luck  with  equal  philosophy,  and  never  com 
plaining.  "If  only  he  wouldn't  try  to  speak!" 
groaned  Hobart,  for  whom  he  had  sent  a  telegraphic 
message  with  skill  and  despatch. 

270 


THE   CANDIDATE 

But  that  very  afternoon  Moore  talked  to  them  on 
the  subject  of  national  finance,  until  they  fell  into  a 
rage  and  left  the  car.  That  evening  Harley  was 
sitting  with  the  candidate,  when  an  old  man,  bent  of 
figure  and  gloomy  of  face,  came  to  them. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  Mr.  Grayson,"  he  said,  "for 
intruding  on  you,  but  I've  come  to  ask  a  favor.  I'm 
Henry  Moore,  of  Council  Grove,  the  father  of  Charlie 
Moore,  who  was  the  best  telegraph-operator  in  Den 
ver,  and  who  is  now  the  poorest  public  speaker  in 
Colorado." 

The  old  man  smiled,  but  it  was  a  sad  smile,  cut  off 
early.  Jimmy  Grayson  was  full  of  sympathy  at 
once,  and  he  shook  Mr.  Moore's  hand  warmly. 

"I  know  your  son,"  he  said;  "he  is  a  bright  boy." 

"Yes,  he's  nothing  but  a  boy,"  said  his  father,  as 
if  seeking  an  excuse.  "  I  suppose  all  boys  must  have 
their  foolish  spells,  but  he  appears  to  have  his  mighty 
hard  and  long." 

The  old  man  sighed,  and  the  look  of  sympathy  on 
Jimmy  Grayson's  face  deepened. 

"Charlie  is  a  good  boy,"  continued  Mr.  Moore, 
"and  if  he  could  have  this  foolish  notion  knocked 
out  of  his  head — there's  no  other  way  to  get  it  out — 
he  would  be  all  right;  and  that's  why  I've  come  to 
you.  You  know  you  are  to  speak  at  Pueblo  to 
morrow  night  in  a  big  hall,  and  one  of  the  biggest 
crowds  in  the  West  will  be  there  to  hear  you.  Two 
or  three  speakers  are  to  follow  you,  and  what  do  you 
think  that  son  of  mine  has  done  ?  Somehow  or  other 
he  has  got  the  committee  to  put  him  on  the  pro 
gramme  right  after  you,  and  he  says  he  is  going  to 
demolish  what  he  calls  your  fallacies." 

Harley  saw  the  candidate's  lips  curve  a  little,  as 
if  he  were  about  to  smile,  but  the  movement  was 

271 


THE   CANDIDATE 

quickly  checked.  Jimmy  Grayson  would  not  will 
ingly  hurt  the  feelings  of  any  man. 

"Your  boy  has  that  right,"  he  said  to  Mr.  Moore. 

"No,  he  hasn't!"  burst  out  the  old  man.  "A  boy 
hasn't  any  right  to  be  so  light-headed,  and  I  want 
you,  Mr.  Grayson,  when  he  has  finished  his  speech, 
to  come  right  back  at  him  and  wipe  him  off  the  face 
of  the  earth.  It  will  be  an  easy  thing  for  so  big  a 
man  as  you  to  do.  Charlie  doesn't  know  a  thing 
about  public  affairs.  He'll  make  lots  of  statements, 
and  every  one  of  'em  will  be  wrong.  Just  show  him 
up.  Make  all  the  people  laugh  at  him.  Just  sting 
him  with  your  words  till  he  turns  red  in  the  face. 
Roll  him  in  the  dust,  and  tread  on  him  till  he  can't 
breathe.  Then  hold  him  up  before  all  that  audience 
as  the  biggest  and  wildest  fool  that  ever  came  on 
a  stage.  Nothing  else  will  cure  him;  it  will  be  a 
favor  to  him  and  to  me;  and  I,  his  father,  who  loves 
him  more  than  anybody  else  in  the  world,  ask  you 
to  do  it." 

Harley  was  tempted  to  smile,  and  at  the  same  mo 
ment  water  came  into  his  eyes.  No  one  could  fail 
to  be  moved  by  the  old  man's  intense  earnestness, 
his  florid  and  mixed  imagery,  and  his  appealing  look. 
Certainly  Jimmy  Grayson  was  no  exception.  He 
glanced  at  Harley,  and  saw  his  expression  of  sym 
pathy,  but  the  correspondent  made  no  suggestion. 

"I  appreciate  your  feelings  and  your  position,  Mr. 
Moore,"  he  said,  "but  this  is  a  hard  thing  that  you 
ask  me  to  do.  I  cannot  trample  upon  a  boy,  even 
metaphorically,  in  the  presence  of  five  thousand  peo 
ple.  What  will  they  think  of  me?" 

"They'll  understand.  They'll  know  why  it's  done, 
and  they'll  like  you  for  it.  It's  the  only  way,  Mr. 
Grayson.  Either  you  do  it  or  my  boy's  life  is  ruined." 

272 


THE    CANDIDATE 

Jimmy  Grayson  walked  up  and  down  the  room, 
and  his  face  was  troubled.  He  looked  again  and 
again  at  Harley,  but  the  correspondent  made  no  sug 
gestion;  he  had  none  to  make.  At  last  he  stopped. 

"I  think  I  can  save  your  son,  and  promise  to  make 
the  trial,  but  I  will  not  say  a  word  just  yet.  Now 
don't  ask  me  any  more  about  it,  and  never  mind  the 
thanks.  I  understand ;  maybe  I  shall  have  a  grown 
son  myself,  some  day,  to  be  turned  from  the  wrong 
path.  Good -night.  I'll  see  you  again  at  Pueblo. 
Harley,  I  wish  you  would  stay  awhile  longer.  I 
want  to  have  further  talk  with  you." 

The  candidate  and  Harley  were  in  deep  converse 
for  some  time,  and,  when  they  finished,  much  of  the 
trouble  had  disappeared  from  Jimmy  Grayson's  eyes. 
"I  think  it  can  be  done,"  he  said. 

"So  do  I,"  repeated  Harley,  with  confidence. 

The  next  day,  which  was  occupied  with  the  run 
down  to  Pueblo  and  occasional  stops  for  speeches 
at  way -stations,  was  uneventful  save  for  the  growing 
obsession  of  Charlie  Moore.  He  was  overflowing 
with  pride  and  importance.  That  night,  in  the  pres 
ence  of  five  thousand  people,  he  was  going  to  reply 
to  the  great  Jimmy  Grayson,  and  show  to  them  and 
to  him  his  errors.  Mr.  Grayson  was  sound  in  most 
things,  but  there  were  several  in  which  he  should  be 
set  right,  and  he,  Charlie  Moore,  was  the  man  to  do 
it  for  him. 

The  fledgling  proudly  produced  several  printed 
programmes  with  his  name  next  to  that  of  the  can 
didate,  and  talked  to  the  correspondents  of  the  main 
points  that  he  would  make,  until  they  fled  into  the 
next  car.  But  he  followed  them  there  and  asked 
them  if  they  would  not  like  to  take  in  advance  a 
synopsis  of  his  speech,  in  order  that  they  might  be 

373 


THE    CANDIDATE 

sure  to  telegraph  it  to  their  offices  in  time.  All 
evaded  the  issue  except  Harley,  who  gravely  jotted 
down  the  synopsis,  and,  with  equal  gravity,  returned 
his  thanks  for  Mr.  Moore's  consideration. 

"  I  knew  you  wouldn't  want  to  miss  it,"  said  the 
youth,  "I  come  on  late,  you  know,  and,  besides,  I  re 
membered  that  the  difference  in  time  between  here 
and  New  York  is  against  us." 

Mr.  Moore,  the  father,  was  on  the  train  through 
out  the  day,  but  he  did  not  speak  to  his  son.  He 
spent  his  time  in  the  car  in  which  Jimmy  Grayson 
sat,  always  silent,  but  always  looking,  with  appeal 
and  pathos,  at  the  great  leader.  His  eyes  said  plain 
ly:  "Mr.  Grayson,  you  will  not  fail  me,  will  you? 
You  will  save  my  son  ?  You  will  beat  him,  and  tread 
on  him  until  he  hasn't  left  a  single  thought  of  being 
a  famous  orator  and  public  leader  ?  Then  he  will  re 
turn  to  the  work  for  which  God  made  him." 

Harley  would  look  at  the  old  man  awhile,  and  then 
return  to  the  next  car,  where  the  youth  was  chatter 
ing  away  to  those  who  could  not  escape  him. 

The  speech  in  Pueblo  was  to  be  of  the  utmost  im 
portance,  not  alone  to  those  whose  own  ears  would 
hear  it,  but  to  the  whole  Union,  because  the  candi 
date  would  make  a  plain  declaration  upon  a  number 
of  vexed  questions  that  had  been  raised  within  the 
last  week  or  two.  This  had  been  announced  in  all 
the  press  on  the  authority  of  Jimmy  Grayson  him 
self,  and  the  speech  in  full,  not  a  word  missing,  would 
have  to  be  telegraphed  to  all  the  great  newspapers 
both  East  and  West. 

In  such  important  campaigns  as  that  of  a  Presi 
dential  nominee,  the  two  great  telegraph  companies 
always  send  operators  with  the  correspondents,  in 
order  that  they  may  despatch  long  messages  from 

274 


THE    CANDIDATE 

small  way-stations,  where  the  local  men  are  not  used 
to  such  heavy  work.  Now  Harley  and  his  associates 
had  with  them  two  veterans,  Barr  and  Wymond, 
from  Chicago,  who  never  failed  them.  They  were 
relieved,  too,  on  reaching  Pueblo,  to  find  that  the 
committee  in  charge  had  been  most  considerate. 
Some  forethoughtful  man,  whom  the  correspondents 
blessed,  had  remembered  the  three  hours'  difference 
in  time  between  Pueblo  and  New  York,  and  against 
New  York,  and  he  had  run  two  wires  directly  into 
the  hall  and  into  a  private  box  on  the  left,  where 
Barr  and  Wymond  could  work  the  instruments,  so 
far  from  the  stage  that  the  clicking  would  not  dis 
turb  Jimmy  Grayson  or  anybody  else,  but  would 
save  much  time  for  the  correspondents. 

The  audience  gathered  early,  and  it  was  a  splendid 
Western  crowd,  big-boned  and  tanned  by  the  West 
ern  winds. 

"They  have  cranks  out  here,  but  it's  a  land  of 
strong  men,  don't  you  forget  that,"  said  Harley  to 
Churchill,  and  Churchill  did  not  attempt  a  sarcastic 
reply. 

They  were  both  sitting  at  the  edge  of  the  stage, 
and  in  front  of  them,  nearer  the  footlights,  was 
young  Moore,  proud  and  eager,  his  fingers  moving 
nervously.  His  father,  too,  had  found  a  seat  on  the 
stage,  but  he  was  in  the  background,  next  to  the 
scenery  and  behind  the  others;  he  was  not  visible 
from  the  floor  of  the  house.  There  he  sat,  staring 
gloomily  at  his  son,  and  now  and  then,  with  a  sort  of 
despairing  hope,  g  ancing  at  Jimmy  Grayson. 

There  were  some  short  preliminary  speeches  and 
introductions,  and  then  came  the  turn  of  the  can 
didate.  The  usual  flutter  of  expectation  ran  over 
the  audience,  followed  by  the  usual  deep  hush,  but 

275 


THE   CANDIDATE 

just  at  that  moment  there  was  an  interruption.  A 
boy  in  the  uniform  of  a  telegraph  company  hurried 
upon  the  stage. 

"You  must  come  at  once,  sir,"  he  said  to  Harley. 
"Mr.  Wymond  hasn't  turned  up.  We  don't  know 
what's  become  of  him.  And  Mr.  Barr  has  took  sick, 
sudden  and  bad.  The  Pueblo  manager  says  he'll  get 
somebody  here  as  quick  as  he  can,  but  he  can't  do  it 
under  half  an  hour,  anyway!" 

The  other  correspondents  stared  at  each  other  in 
dismay,  and  then  at  the  hired  stenographer  who  was 
to  take  down  the  speech  in  full.  But  Harley,  al 
ways  thoughtful  and  resourceful,  responded  to  the 
emergency.  He  had  noticed  Moore  raise  his  head 
with  an  expression  of  lively  interest  at  the  news  of 
the  disaster,  and  he  stepped  forward  at  once  and 
put  his  hand  on  the  fledgling's  shoulder. 

"Mr.  Moore,"  he  exclaimed,  in  stirring  appeal, 
"this  is  a  crisis  for  us,  and  you  must  save  us.  You 
have  eaten  with  us,  and  you  have  lived  with  us,  and 
you  cannot  desert  us  now.  We  have  all  heard  that 
you  are  a  great  operator,  the  greatest  in  the  West. 
You  must  send  Mr.  Grayson's  speech.  What  a 
triumph  it  will  be  for  you — to  send  his  speech  and 
then  get  upon  this  stage  and  demolish  it  afterwards!" 

The  feeling  in  Harley's  voice  was  real,  and  the  boy 
was  thrilled  by  it  and  the  situation.  Every  natural 
impulse  in  him  responded.  It  was  the  chivalrous 
thing  for  him  to  do,  and  an  easy  one.  He  could  send 
a  speech  as  fast  as  the  fastest  man  living  could  de 
liver  it.  He  rose  without;  a  word,  his  heart  beating 
with  thoughts  of  the  coming  battle,  in  which  he  felt 
proudly  that  he  should  be  a  victor,  and  made  his 
way  to  the  telegraphers'  box. 

Moore  had  lived  in  Pueblo,  and  nearly  everybody  in 
276 


THE    CANDIDATE 

the  audience  knew  him.  When  they  saw  him  take 
his  seat  at  one  of  the  instruments,  their  quick  West 
ern  minds  divined  what  he  was  going  to  do,  and  the 
roar  of  applause  that  they  had  just  given  to  the  can 
didate,  who  was  now  on  his  feet,  was  succeeded  by 
another;  but  the  second  was  for  Charlie  Moore,  the 
telegraph-operator. 

The  fledgling  had  no  time  to  think.  He  had 
scarcely  settled  himself  in  his  chair  when  the  deep, 
full  voice  of  Jimmy  Grayson  filled  the  great  hall,  and 
he  was  launched  upon  a  speech  for  which  the  whole 
Union  was  waiting.  The  short-hand  man  was  already 
deep  in  his  work,  and  the  copy  began  to  come.  But 
the  boy  felt  no  alarm;  he  was  not  even  fluttered; 
the  feel  of  the  key  was  good,  and  the  atmosphere  of 
that  box  which  enclosed  the  telegraph  apparatus  was 
sweet  in  his  nostrils.  He  called  up  Denver,  from 
which  the  speech  would  be  repeated  to  the  greater 
cities,  and  with  a  sigh  of  deep  satisfaction  settled  to 
his  task. 

They  tell  yet  in  Western  telegraph  circles  of 
Charlie  Moore's  great  exploit.  The  candidate  was  in 
grand  form  that  night,  and  his  speech  came  rushing 
forth  in  a  torrent.  The  missing  Wymond  was  still 
missing,  and  the  luckless  Barr  was  still  ill,  but  the 
fledgling  sat  alone  in  the  box,  his  face  bent  over  the 
key,  oblivious  of  the  world  around  him,  and  sent  it 
all.  Through  him  ran  the  fire  of  battle  and  great 
endeavor.  He  heard  the  call  and  replied.  He  never 
missed  a  word.  He  sent  them  hot  across  the  prairie, 
over  the  slopes  and  ridges,  and  across  the  brown 
plains  into  Denver.  And  there  in  the  general  office 
the  manager  muttered  more  than  once:  "That  fel 
low  is  doing  great  work!  How  he  saves  time!" 

The  audience  liked  Jimmy  Grayson's  speech,  and 
277 


THE   CANDIDATE 

again  and  again  the  applause  swelled  and  echoed. 
Then  they  noticed  how  the  boy  in  the  telegraphers' 
box — a  boy  of  their  own — was  working.  Mysterious 
voices,  too,  began  to  spread  among  them  the  news 
how  Charlie  Moore  had  saved  the  day — or,  rather,  the 
night — and  now  and  then  in  Jimmy  Grayson's  pauses 
cries  of  "Good  boy,  Charlie!"  arose. 

Harley,  while  doing  his  writing,  nevertheless  kept  a 
keen  eye  upon  all  the  actors  in  the  drama.  He  saw 
the  light  of  hope  appear  more  strongly  upon  old  man 
Moore's  face,  and  then  turn  into  a  glow  as  he  beheld 
his  son  doing  so  well. 

The  candidate  spoke  on  and  on.  He  had  begun 
at  nine  o'clock,  but  that  was  a  great  and  important 
speech,  and  no  one  left  the  hall.  Eleven  o'clock, 
and  then  midnight,  and  Jimmy  Grayson  was  still 
speaking.  But  it  was  not  his  night  alone ;  it  belonged 
to  two  men,  and  the  other  partner  was  Charlie  Moore, 
who  fulfilled  his  task  equally  well,  and  whom  the  au 
dience  still  observed. 

But  the  boy  was  thinking  only  of  his  duty  that  he 
was  doing  so  well.  The  victory  was  his,  as  he  knew 
that  it  would  be.  He  kept  even  with  the  speech. 
Hardly  had  the  last  word  of  the  sentence  left  Jimmy 
Grayson's  lips  before  the  first  of  it  was  on  the  way 
to  Denver,  and  in  newspaper  offices  two  thousand 
miles  away  they  were  putting  every  paragraph  in 
type  before  it  was  a  half -hour  old. 

The  boy,  by-and-by,  as  the  words  passed  before 
him  on  the  written  page,  began  to  notice  what  a 
great  speech  it  was.  How  the  sentences  cut  to  the 
heart  of  things!  How  luminous  and  striking  was 
the  phraseology!  And  around  him  he  heard,  as  if  in 
a  dream,  the  liquid  notes  of  that  wonderful,  golden 
voice.  Suddenly,  like  a  stroke  of  lightning,  he  real- 

278 


THE    CANDIDATE 

ized  how  empty  were  his  own  thoughts,  how  bare 
and  hard  his  speech,  and  how  thin  and  flat  his  voice! 
His  heart  sank  with  a  plunge,  and  then  rose  again  as 
his  finger  touched  the  familiar  key  and  the  answer 
ing  touch  thrilled  back  through  his  body.  He  glanced 
at  the  audience,  and  saw  many  faces  looking  up  at 
him,  and  on  them  was  a  peculiar  look.  Again  the 
thrill  ran  through  him,  and,  bending  his  head  lower, 
he  sent  the  words  faster  than  ever  on  their  eastern 
journey. 

At  last  Jimmy  Grayson  stopped,  and  then  the 
audience  cheered  its  applause  for  the  speech.  When 
the  echoes  died,  some  one — it  was  Judge  Basset — 
sprang  up  on  a  chair  and  exclaimed: 

"Gentlemen,  we  have  cheered  Mr.  Grayson,  and 
he  deserves  it;  but  there  is  some  one  else  whom  we 
ought  to  cheer,  too.  You  have  seen  Charlie  Moore, 
a  Pueblo  boy,  one  of  our  own,  there  in  the  box  send 
ing  the  speech  to  the  world  that  was  waiting  for  it. 
Perhaps  you  do  not  know  that  if  he  had  not  helped 
us  to-night  the  world  would  have  had  to  wait  too  long. " 

They  dragged  young  Moore,  amid  the  cheers,  upon 
the  stage,  and  then,  when  the  hush  came,  the  candi 
date  said: 

"You  seem  to  know  him  already;  but  as  all  the 
speaking  of  the  evening  is  now  over,  I  wish  to  in 
troduce  to  you  again  Mr.  Charlie  Moore,  the  great 
est  telegraph-operator  in  the  West,  the  genius  of  the 
key,  a  man  destined  to  rise  to  the  highest  place  in 
his  profession." 

When  the  last  echo  of  the  last  cheer  died,  there 
died  with  it  the  last  ambition  of  Charlie  Moore  to  be 
a  spellbinder,  and  straight  before  him,  broad,  smooth, 
and  alluring,  lay  the  road  for  which  his  feet  were 
fitted. 

279 


THE    CANDIDATE 

But  the  words  most  grateful  to  Jimmy  Grayson 
were  the  thanks  of  the  fledgling's  father.  The  lit 
tle  drama  of  the  side  -  box  and  the  telegraph  -  key 
was  known  to  but  five  people — the  candidate,  Harley, 
the  two  operators,  and  happy  Mr.  Moore.  The 
old  gentleman,  indeed,  said  something  about  Mr. 
Grayson  having  helped  him,  but  it  was  taken  by  the 
others  to  mean  that  a  mere  chance,  a  lucky  combina 
tion  of  circumstances,  had  come  to  his  aid,  and  they 
failed  to  see  in  it  anything  of  prearrangement  or 
even  intention.  Hence  there  appeared  on  the  sur 
face  nothing  to  be  criticised  even  by  Churchill,  ever 
on  the  lookout  for  an  incident  that  seemed  to  him 
incongruous  or  irrelevant. 

Harley  made  it  an  excuse  for  something  that  he 
wished  very  much  to  do.  About  this  time  Mrs. 
Grayson,  returning  from  Salt  Lake  City,  rejoined 
them,  but  she  did  not  bring  Sylvia  with  her,  leaving 
her  in  the  Mormon  capital  for  a  further  stay  with 
relatives.  But  Harley  wrote  a  long  letter  to  Sylvia, 
beginning  with  the  story  of  the  spellbinder,  and  he 
told  her  that  his  admiration  for  the  candidate  steadily 
increased,  because  Mr.  Grayson  was  able,  at  all  times, 
even  in  the  heat  of  the  hottest  campaign  that  the 
Union  had  ever  known,  to  put  the  highest  attributes 
of  the  human  heart — mercy,  gentleness,  help — before 
his  own  political  good  or  even  that  of  his  party.  Mr. 
Grayson  might  be  beaten,  but  he  would  make  a  rec 
ord  that  must  become  a  source  of  pride,  not  to  his 
party  alone,  but  to  the  whole  country.  In  fact,  Mr. 
Grayson  belonged  to  humanity,  and  the  race  might 
lay  claim  to  him  as  one  of  its  finest  types. 

Then  from  Mr.  Grayson  he  glided  to  the  other,  and, 
to  Harley,  greater  topic — herself.  He  told  her  that 
nothing  had  occurred  to  make  him  change  his  wishes 

280 


THE    CANDIDATE 

or  his  hopes ;  since  her  absence  began  his  resolve  had 
grown.  He  felt  more  than  ever  that  the  claim  of  Mr. 
Plummer  upon  her,  though  of  a  high  and  noble  nature, 
even  if  he  did  hold  her  promise,  must  yield  to  the 
love  of  the  husband  for  the  wife.  Mr.  Plummer 
would  come  to  see  this,  and  he  would  come  to  see 
it  in  time.  He  had  no  desire  to  interfere  with  the 
natural  affection  of  the  man  who  had  done  so  much 
for  Sylvia,  nor  did  he  feel  that  he  was  making  such 
interference. 

Harley  was  not  sure  that  he  would  receive  a  reply 
to  this  letter,  but  it  came  in  due  time,  nevertheless, 
and  it  was  Jimmy  Grayson  himself  who  handed  it  to 
him.  The  handwriting  of  the  address  was  known, 
of  course,  to  Mr.  Grayson,  and  he  could  scarcely 
have  failed  to  notice  it,  but  he  said  nothing,  and  ap 
parently  the  fact  passed  unheeded  by  him. 

Sylvia,  in  the  course  of  her  letter,  confined  herself  to 
impartial  narrative,  and  began  with  the  event  of  the 
spellbinder,  which  Harley  had  told  to  her  in  detail. 
Indeed,  it  seemed  to  Harley  that  she  devoted  a  very 
remarkable  amount  of  space  to  its  consideration, 
especially  as  she  agreed  with  him  that  Mr.  Gray- 
son's  action  was  right;  nevertheless,  she  discussed  it 
from  all  points  of  the  compass,  and  then  she  wrote 
with  almost  equal  amplitude  of  her  sight-seeing  in 
Salt  Lake  City. 

Harley  knew  that  Mormons  were  no  novelty  to 
Sylvia,  as  she  had  seen  many  of  them  in  Idaho,  but 
she  seemed  to  feel  it  necessary  to  describe  with  par 
ticularity  all  the  great  Mormon  buildings,  and  also 
to  speak  fully  of  the  manners  and  customs  of  the 
people.  All  this  might  have  been  very  interesting 
to  him  at  another  time  and  from  another  pen,  but 
now  he  saw  only  the  handwriting  and  wished  her  to 

281 


THE    CANDIDATE 

devote  attention  to  that  little  codicil  in  his  own  let 
ter  in  which  he  so  earnestly  avowed  again  .his  love 
and  his  belief  in  its  ultimate  triumph.  She  made 
no  allusion  whatever  to  it,  and  he  felt  his  heart  sink. 
Nor  did  she  speak  of  "King"  Plummer,  and  he  could 
not  gather  from  the  letter  whether  "he  was  yet  in 
Salt  Lake  City  or  had  gone  back  to  Idaho.  She  had 
carefully  avoided  all  the  subjects  on  which  he  hoped 
she  would  write,  and  as  he  closed  the  letter  and 
put  it  in  his  pocket  he  was  still  rather  blue. 

But  reflection  put  him  in  a  different  and  much 
more  pleasant  frame  of  mind.  The  fact  that  she 
had  replied  was  a  good  omen,  and  her  very  avoidance 
of  the  most  delicate  of  all  subjects  was  proof  that 
she  did  not  forbid  it  to  him.  Harley  was  a  bold  man, 
and,  being  ready  to  push  his  fortune  to  the  utmost  in 
a  cause  that  he  believed  righteous,  he  resolved  to 
write  her  another  letter  in  a  few  days,  and  to  repeat 
in  it  much  that  he  had  said  in  his  first,  or  to  say 
words  to  the  same  effect. 

Meanwhile  his  countenance  assumed  a  joyous  cast, 
which  was  noticeable  because  he  was  habitually  of 
grave  demeanor,  and  his  associates,  observing  the 
change,  taxed  him  with  the  fact  and  demanded  an 
explanation,  Hobart  in  particular  wishing  to  know. 
Harley  lightly  ascribed  it  to  the  rarefied  air,  as  they 
were  ascending  a  plateau,  and  the  others,  though 
calling  it  the  baldest  and  poorest  of  replies,  were 
forced  to  be  content. 

But  one  man  who  noticed  Harley,  and  who  said 
nothing,  guessed  much  closer  to  the  cause.  It  was 
Mr.  Grayson  himself,  who  had  seen  the  address  on 
the  envelope,  and  it  aroused  grave  thoughts  in  him. 
Nor  were  these  thoughts  unkind  to  Sylvia  or  Harley. 
It  was  the  custom  of  the  candidate  to  subject  him- 

282 


self  at  intervals  to  a  searching  mental  examination, 
and  now  he  made  James  Grayson  walk  out  before 
him  again  and  undergo  this  minute  process. 

He  was  extremely  fond  of  Sylvia,  whose  grace,  in 
telligence,  and  loyalty  appealed  to  the  best  in  him, 
and  he  was  anxious  to  secure  her  happiness  and  her 
position  in  life,  on  which,  in  a  measure,  the  former 
depended.  For  these  reasons  he  had  received  with 
pleasure  the  news  that  Sylvia  was  going  to  marry 
Mr.  Plummer.  Despite  the  disparity  of  ages,  the 
match  seemed  fitting  to  him ;  he  knew  the  worth  and 
honor  of  the  "King"  to  be  so  great  that  the  happi 
ness  of  any  young  girl,  especially  that  of  one  who 
owed  so  much  to  him,  ought  to  be  safe  in  his  keep 
ing.  But  now  the  doubts  which  had  begun  to  form 
were  growing  stronger.  He  saw  that  nature  was 
playing  havoc  with  mere  material  fitness,  and  there 
came  to  him  the  question  of  his  own  duty. 

The  candidate  now  knew  well  enough  that  Sylvia 
did  not  love  Mr.  Plummer  as  a  girl  should  love  the 
man  whom  she  is  going  to  marry,  but  that  she  did 
love  Harley.  He  conceived  it,  too,  to  be  a  true  and 
lasting  love  with  both  the  young  man  and  the  young 
woman,  and  again  came  to  him  that  question  of  his 
own  duty,  a  question  not  only  troublesome,  but  dan 
gerous  to  him  in  his  present  situation.  He  knew 
that  Sylvia,  despite  all,  would  marry  "King"  Plum 
mer  unless  the  unforeseen  occurred,  and  make  her 
self  unhappy  all  her  life.  Should  he,  then,  tell  "  King  " 
Plummer,  or  have  his  wife  tell  him  in  the  more 
indirect  and  delicate  way  women  have,  that  the 
burden  of  the  situation  rested  upon  him,  and  that 
he  ought  to  release  Sylvia?  The  candidate  shrank 
from  such  a  task ;  he  could  not  meddle,  even  when  it 
was  his  own  niece  whom  he  wished  to  save,  and  there 

283 


THE    CANDIDATE 

was  another  thought,  too,  in  the  background  which 
he  strove  honestly  to  keep  out  of  his  mind;  it  was 
the  old  apprehension  lest  the  "King"  in  his  rage, 
particularly  when  it  was  the  candidate  himself  who 
took  from  him  his  heart's  desire,  should  rebel,  or 
at  least  sulk  and  put  the  Mountain  States  in  the  op 
posing  column.  It  was  no  less  true  now  than  in 
the  Middle  Ages  that  men  disappointed  in  love  some 
times  did  desperate  things,  and  "King"  Plummer 
was  a  full-blooded,  impulsive  man. 

Brooding  much  upon  the  question,  a  rare  frown 
came  to  the  face  of  Jimmy  Gray  son,  and  stayed  there 
so  long  that  his  followers  noticed  it,  and  wondered 
much.  They  decided  that  it  was  the  revolt  within 
the  party,  and  did  not  disturb  him,  but  his  wife, 
more  acute,  knew  that  it  was  not  politics,  and,  sit 
ting  down  beside  him,  waited  silently  until  he  should 
speak,  as  she  knew  he  would  in  time.  A  full  hour 
passed  thus,  and  scarcely  any  one  in  the  train  uttered 
a  word.  The  candidate  gazed  gloomily  out  of  the 
window,  but  he  did  not  see  the  mountains  and  the 
canons  as  they  shot  by.  Most  of  the  state  politicians 
slept  in  their  seats,  and  the  correspondents  either 
wrote  or  communed  with  themselves. 

Mr.  Grayson  rose  at  last,  and,  saying  to  his  wife, 
"I  should  like  a  word  with  you  in  private,"  led  the 
way  to  the  drawing-room.  She  followed,  knowing 
that  he  wished  to  speak  of  the  trouble  on  his  mind, 
and  she  made  a  shrewd  guess  as  to  its  nature. 

"Anna,  it  is  something  that  I  have  been  trying  to 
put  away  from  me,"  he  said,  when  they  were  in  the 
privacy  of  the  drawing-room,  "but  it  won't  stay 
away.  I  suppose  I  ought  to  have  spoken  to  you  of 
it  some  time  ago,  but  I  could  not  make  up  my  mind 
to  do  it." 

284 


THE    CANDIDATE 

She  smiled  a  little. 

"I,  too,  have  been  dreading  the  subject,"  she  said, 
"if  it  is  what  I  think  it  is.  You  are  going  to  speak 
of  Sylvia,  Mr.  Plummer,  and  Mr.  Harley." 

"Yes,  Harley  has  a  letter  from  Sylvia,  and  he 
will  have  more.  She  doesn't  want  to  write  to  him, 
but  she  will.  The  girl  is  breaking  her  heart,  and  I 
am  not  sure  that  you  and  I  are  doing  what  we  ought 
to  do." 

"And  you  do  not  think  that  Mr.  Plummer  would 
make  a  suitable  husband  for  her?" 

She  regarded  him  keenly  from  under  lowered  eye 
lids — the  question  was  merely  intended  to  lead  to 
something  else. 

"That  is  not  the  point.  Harley  is  the  man  she 
loves,  and  Harley  is  the  man  she  should  marry." 

"Should  she  not  decide  this  question  for  herself?" 

The  candidate  studied  the  face  of  his  wife.  Her 
words,  if  taken  simply  as  words,  would  seem  metallic 
and  cold,  but  there  was  an  expression  that  gave 
them  a  wholly  different  meaning  to  him. 

"Under  ordinary  circumstances,  yes,"  he  said, 
"but  the  circumstances  in  which  Sylvia  finds  her 
self  are  not  ordinary,  and  I  am  not  sure  how  far 
we  are  responsible  for  them." 

"I  undertook  to  act  once,  and  I  was  sorry  that  I 
did  so." 

The  candidate  did  not  speak  again  for  several 
moments,  but  Mrs.  Grayson  read  his  expressive  face. 

"You  have  thought  of  something  else,"  she  said, 
"that  is  or  seems  to  be  connected  with  this  affair 
of  Sylvia's." 

"I  have,  and  I  am  afraid  it  is  that  which  has  been 
holding  me  back." 

The  eyes  of  the  two  met,  and,  although  they  said 
285 


THE    CANDIDATE 

no  more  upon  that  point,  they  understood  each  other 
perfectly. 

"Anna,"  said  the  candidate,  with  decision,  "you 
must  write  to  Mr.  Plummer.  I  do  not  shift  this 
burden  from  myself  to'y°u  because  of  any  desire  to 
escape  it,  but  because  1  know  you  will  write  the  let 
ter  so  much  better  than  I  can." 

Her  eyes  met  his  again,  and  hers  shone  with  ad 
miration — he  was  not  less  brave  than  she  had  thought 
him. 

"I  do  not  know  what  will  come  of  it,"  he  said; 
"perhaps  nothing,  but  in  any  event  we  ought  to 
write  it." 

"I  will  write,"  she  said,  firmly. 

The  candidate  said  nothing  more  but  he  bent  down 
and  kissed  his  wife  on  the  forehead. 

When  Jimmy  Grayson  returned  from  the  drawing- 
room,  they  noticed  that  the  frown  was  gone  from 
his  face,  and  at  once  there  was  a  new  atmosphere  in 
the  car.  The  sleepy  politicians  awoke  and  made  new 
or  old  jokes;  the  correspondents  ceased  writing,  and 
asked  Mr.  Grayson  what  he  intended  to  put  in  his 
next  speech.  Obviously  the  current  of  life  began  to 
run  full  and  free  again,  and  the  incomparable  scen 
ery  gliding  by  their  car -windows  no  longer  passed 
without  comment.  But  Mrs.  Grayson,  in  the  draw 
ing-room,  taking  much  thought  and  care,  was  writ 
ing  this  letter,  which  she  addressed  to  Mr.  Plummer, 
in  Boise",  where  she  heard  that  he  was  going  from 
Salt  Lake  City: 

"DEAR  MR.  PLUMMER,  —  I  want  to  tell  you  how  we  are 
getting  on,  because  I  know  how  deeply  you  are  interested 
in  the  campaign,  and  all  of  us  have  enjoyed  the  way  in 
which  you  affiliated  with  our  little  group.  We  have  been 
so  long  together  now  that  we  have  become  a  sort  of  family — 

286 


THE   CANDIDATE 

speakers,  writers,  and  well-wishers,  with  Mr.  Grayson  as  the 
head  in  virtue  of  his  position  as  nominee.  You  have  had  a 
large  place  in  this  family — what  shall  I  call  it? — a  kind  of 
elder  brother,  one  who  out  of  the  fund  of  his  experience 
could  wisely  lead  the  younger  and  more  impulsive." 

Mrs.  Grayson  stopped  here  and  tapped  her  finger 
thoughtfully  with  the  staff  of  her  pen.  "That  para 
graph,"  she  mused,  "should  bring  home  to  him  the 
fact  that  he  is  old  as  compared  with  Sylvia  and  Mr. 
Harley,  and  that  is  the  first  thing  I  wish  to  establish 
in  his  mind.  Then,  dipping  her  pen  in  the  ink  again, 
she  wrote: 

"This,  I  think,  is  one  of  the  reasons  that  our  young  peo 
ple  have  missed  you  so  much.  You  were  always  prepared 
to  take  your  part  in  the  entertainment  of  the  day,  but  your 
gravity  and  your  years,  which,  without  being  too  many,  be 
come  you  so  much,  exercised  a  restraining  influence  upon 
them,  and  showed  them  the  line  at  which  they  should  stop. 
I  think  that  you  acquired  over  them  an  influence,  in  its  way 
paternal,  and  it  is  in  such  a  capacity  that  they  miss  you 
most." 

The  lady's  smile  deepened,  and  in  her  mind  was 
the  thought  that  if  he  did  not  wince  at  this  bolt  he 
was,  indeed,  impervious.  Then  she  continued: 

"My  interest  in  this  campaign  is  not  alone  political  nor 
personal  to  Mr.  Grayson,  which  also  means  myself,  but  I 
have  become  much  interested  in  those  who  travel  with  us — 
that  is,  those  who  have  become  the  members  of  our  new 
family.  There  is  Mr.  Heathcote,  who  was  sent  West  as  our 
enemy,  and  quickly  turned  to  a  friend.  There  is  Mr.  Tre- 
maine,  who  is  such  a  gay  old  beau,  and  who  never  realizes 
that  he  is  too  old  for  the  young  women  with  whom  he  wishes 
to  flirt." 

The  lady  stopped  again,  and  her  smile  was  deeper 
than  ever.  "  Now  that  was  unintended,"  she  mused, 
"but  it  comes  in  very  happily."  She  resumed: 

287 


THE    CANDIDATE 

"  And  there  is  Mr.  Hobart,  who  loves  mysteries,  especially 
murder  mysteries,  and  who  saved  the  life  of  that  innocent 
boy.  I  find  him  a  most  interesting  character,  but,  after  all, 
he  is  read  with  less  difficulty  than  Mr.  Harley,  who,  though 
silent  and  reserved,  seems  to  me  to  be  deeper  and  more 
complex.  His,  I  am  sure,  is  a  very  strong  nature — Mr. 
Grayson,  you  know,  is  quite  fond  of  him,  and  in  certain 
things  has  got  into  the  habit  of  leaning  upon  him.  Mr. 
Harley  seems  to  me  to  be  fitted  by  temperament  and  strength 
to  be  the  shield  and  support  of  some  one.  He  could  make 
the  girl  who  should  become  his  wife  very  happy,  and  I  am 
wondering  if  he  will  go  out  of  our  West  without  forming 
such  an  attachment." 

"That  surely,"  thought  the  lady,  "will  bring  him 
to  the  question  which  I  present  to  his  mind,  and  he 
will  answer  it  whether  he  will  or  not,  by  saying  this 
attachment  has  been  formed,  and  it  is  for  Sylvia." 
She  continued: 

"Like  Mr.  Grayson,  I  am  very  fond  of  Mr.  Harley,  who 
has  proved  himself  a  true  friend  to  us,  and  I  should  like  to 
see  him  happy — that  is,  married  to  a  true  woman,  who  would 
not  alone  receive  strength,  but  give  it,  too.  In  the  course 
of  his  vocation,  he  has  already  roamed  about  the  world 
enough,  and  it  is  time  now  for  him  to  settle  down.  If  I  had 
my  way  I  should  select  for  him  one  of  our  fine  Western  girls ; 
about  twenty-one  or  two,  I  think,  would  be  the  right  age 
for  him — there  is  a  fitness  in  these  things." 

"I  wonder  if  that  is  blunt?"  she  mused.  "No,  he 
will  think  it  just  popped  out,  and  that  I  was  uncon 
scious  of  it.  I  shall  let  it  stay."  Then  she  resumed: 

"It  ought  to  be  a  girl  with  a  temperament  that  is  at  once 
a  match  and  foil  for  his  own.  She  should  have  a  sense  of 
humor,  a  gift  for  light  and  ironic  speech  that  can  stir  him 
without  irritating  him,  because  he  is  perhaps  of  a  cautious 
disposition,  and  hence  would  be  well  matched  with  one  a 
little  bit  impulsive,  each  exercising  the  proper  influence 

288 


THE    CANDIDATE 

upon  the  other.  She  should  be  strong,  too,  habituated  to 
physical  hardship,  as  our  Western  girls  are.  Such  a  mar 
riage,  I  think,  would  be  ideal,  and  I  expect  you,  Mr.  Plummer, 
when  you  rejoin  us,  to  help  me  make  it,  should  the  oppor 
tunity  arise.  Yours  sincerely, 

"  ANNA  GRAYSON." 

She  folded  the  sheets,  put  them  in  the  envelope, 
and  addressed  them.  It  was  the  second  time  that 
she  had  written  to  Mr.  Plummer,  but  with  a  very 
different  motive,  and  she  had  more  confidence  in  the 
second  letter  than  she  had  ever  felt  in  the  first. 

"That  will  cause  him  pain,"  she  reflected,  "but 
the  task  cannot  be  done  without  it." 

In  her  heart  she  was  genuinely  sorry  for  Mr.  Plum 
mer,  thinking  at  that  moment  more  of  his  grief  than 
of  her  husband's  risk,  but  she  was  resolute  to  mail 
the  letter,  nevertheless.  She  read  it  a  little  later  to 
Mr.  Grayson,  and  he  approved. 

"It  is  likely  to  bring  'King'  Plummer  raging  down 
from  Idaho,  but  it  ought  to  go,"  he  said. 

A  half -hour  later,  this  letter,  written  in  a  delicate, 
feminine  hand,  but  heavy  with  fate,  was  speeding 
northwestward. 

19 


XVIII 

THE    SACRIFICB 

A  FEW  days  after  writing  this  letter,  Mrs.  Gray- 
son  announced  that   Sylvia  would  rejoin  them 
on   the  following   afternoon,   having  shortened   her 
stay  in  Salt  Lake  City,  as  her  relations  were  about  to 
depart  on  a  visit  to  California. 

"  She  wants  very  much  to  go  on  with  us,"  said  Mrs. 
Grayson,  "  and  rather  than  send  her  either  to  Boise 
or  to  our  home,  where  she  would  be  alone,  we  are 
willing  for  her  to  continue." 

"I  should  think  you  would  be!"  exclaimed  Ho- 
bart.  "Why,  Mrs.  Grayson,  much  as  we  esteem  you, 
we  would  start  a  violent  rebellion  if  you  should  send 
Miss  Morgan  away,  a  rebellion  attended  by  blood 
shed  and  desperate  deeds." 

Mrs.  Grayson  smiled  and  glanced  at  Harley,  who 
was  silent.  But  she  did  not  fail  to  see  the  flash  of 
pleasure  under  his  veiled  eyelids. 

"Keep  your  pistol  in  your  pocket  and  your  sword 
in  its  sheath,  Mr.  Hobart,"  she  said;  "I  shall  not  give 
you  occasion  to  use  either." 

"Then  I  declare  for  peace." 

Sylvia  joined  them  at  the  time  mentioned  by  Mrs. 
Grayson,  quiet,  slightly  pale,  and  disposed,  in  the 
opinion  of  the  Graysons,  to  much  thought.  "The 
girl  has  something  on  her  mind  which  she  cannot  put 
off,"  said  Tremaine,  and  in  this  case  he  was  right. 

290 


THE    CANDIDATE 

Sylvia,  while  in  Salt  Lake  City,  far  from  the  in 
fluences  which  recently  had  brought  to  her  acute 
pain  and  joy  alike,  considered  her  position  with  as 
much  personal  detachment  as  she  could  assume. 
Away  from  Harley  and  the  magic  of  his  presence  and 
his  confident  voice,  she  strengthened  her  resolve  to 
keep  her  word  —  if  "King"  Plummer  claimed  her, 
he  should  yet  have  her.  But  this  same  examination 
showed  her  another  fact  that  was  unalterable.  She 
loved  Harley,  and,  though  she  might  marry  another 
man,  she  would  continue  to  love  him.  In  a  way  she 
gloried  in  the  truth  and  her  recognition  of  it.  It 
was  a  love  she  intended  to  hide,  but  it  brought  her 
a  sad  happiness  nevertheless. 

It  was  this  feeling,  spiritual  in  its  nature,  that  gave 
to  Sylvia  a  new  charm  when  she  came  back,  a  touch 
of  sorrow  and  womanly  dignity  that  all  noticed  at 
once,  and  to  which  they  gave  tribute.  It  melted  the 
heart  of  Jimmy  Grayson,  who  knew  so  well  the  rea 
son  why,  and  he  was  glad  now  that  his  wife  had 
written  to  "King"  Plummer. 

Sylvia  said  nothing  about  Mr.  Plummer;  if  she 
knew  whether  he  would  return  and  when,  she  kept 
it  to  herself,  and  Mrs.  Grayson,  who  was  waiting  in 
anxiety  for  an  answer  to  her  letter — an  answer  that  did 
not  come — was  in  a  state  of  apprehension,  which  she 
hid,  however,  from  all  except  Mr.  Grayson.  This 
agitation  was  increased  by,  an  event  in  her  husband's 
career,  so  unexpected  in  its  nature  and  so  extraor 
dinary  that  it  was  the  sensation  of  the  country,  and 
exercised  an  unfavorable  influence  upon  the  cam 
paign.  If  any  one  in  the  United  States,  whether 
friend  or  enemy,  had  been  asked  if  such  a  thing 
could  occur,  he  would  have  said  that  it  was  im 
possible. 

291 


THE    CANDIDATE 

In  their  travels  they  came  presently  to  Egmont,  a 
snug  town,  lying  in  a  hollow  of  the  land,  from  which 
they  were  going  to  conduct  what  Hobart  called  a 
circular  campaign  —  that  is,  it  was  the  centre  from 
which  they  were  to  make  journeys  to  a  ring  of  small 
er  places  lying  in  a  circle  about  it,  returning  late  at 
night  for  sleep  and  rest. 

They  were  all  pleased  with  Egmont;  though  less 
than  ten  years  old,  it  had  houses  of  brick  and  stone, 
a  trim  look,  and  the  smoothness  of  life  and  comfort 
that  usually  come  only  with  age.  It  was  a  pleasure 
to  return  to  it  every  night  from  the  newer  and 
cruder  villages  in  the  outer  ring,  and  enjoy  good 
beds  and  fresh  sheets. 

But  the  candidate  spoke  first  in  Egmont,  and  the 
chairman  of  the  committee  that  managed  the  meet 
ing  was  the  solid  man  of  the  town.  Harley  and  his 
comrades  required  no  information  on  this  point;  it 
was  visible  at  once  in  the  important  manner  of  the 
Honorable  John  Anderson,  the  cool  way  in  which 
he  assumed  authority,  and  his  slight  air  of  patronage 
when  he  came  in  contact  with  the  correspondents. 
Harley  and  his  comrades  only  laughed ;  they  had  often 
noticed  the  same  bearing  in  men  much  better  known 
in  the  world  than  the  Honorable  John  Anderson,  of 
Egmont,  Montana,  and  they  generally  set  it  down 
as  one  of  the  faults  of  success;  therefore  they  could 
smile. 

But  Mr.  Anderson  was  hospitable,  insisting  that 
the  candidate  and  his  family,  instead  of  spending 
the  first  night  at  the  hotel,  should  go  with  him  to  his 
house.  "I  have  room  and  to  spare,"  he  said,  with 
a  slight  touch  of  importance.  "My  house  will  be 
honored  if  it  can  shelter  to-night  the  next  President 
of  the  United  States." 

392 


THE    CANDIDATE 

"Thank  you  for  the  invitation,"  said  Jimmy 
Grayson,  gravely.  "I  shall  be  glad  to  join  you  with 
my  family  and  Mr.  Harley.  Mr.  Harley  has  become 
in  a  sense  one  of  my  advisers,  almost  a  lieutenant,  I 
might  say." 

Mr.  Anderson  was  not  intending  to  ask  Harley, 
as  the  correspondent  knew,  but  the  candidate  had 
included  him  so  deftly  that  the  important  citizen 
must  do  so,  too,  and  he  widened  the  invitation  with 
courtesy.  Harley,  always  in  search  of  new  types, 
always  anxious  to  explore  the  secrets  of  new  lands, 
accepted  as  promptly  as  if  the  request  had  been 
spontaneous. 

Although  his  house  was  only  a  few  hundred  yards 
away,  Mr.  Anderson  took  them  there  in  his  two- 
seated,  highly  polished  carriage,  drawn  by  a  pair  of 
seal-brown  trotters.  "Good  horses,"  he  said,  as  he 
cracked  his  whip  contentedly  over  them.  "  I  brought 
them  all  the  way  from  Kentucky.  Cost  me  a  lot,  too." 

The  Anderson  house  was  really  fine,  built  of  light 
stone,  standing  far  back  on  a  wide  lawn,  and  Harley 
could  see  that  the  good  taste  of  some  one  had  pre 
sided  at  its  birth.  It  had  an  Eastern  air  of  quiet 
and  completion.  When  Mr.  Anderson,  glancing  at 
his  guests,  beheld  the  look  of  approval  on  their  faces, 
he  was  pleased,  and  said,  in  an  easy,  off-hand  manner: 

"Been  up  only  four  years;  planned  it  myself,  with 
a  little  help  from  wife  and  daughter." 

Harley  at  once  surmised  that  the  good  effect  was 
due  to  the  taste  of  the  wife  or  daughter,  or  both,  and 
he  was  confirmed  in  the  opinion  when  he  met  Mrs. 
Anderson,  a  slight,  modest  woman,  superior  to  her 
husband  in  some  respects  that  Harley  thought  im 
portant.  The  daughter  did  not  appear  until  just  be 
fore  dinner,  but  when  she  came  into  the  parlor  to 

293 


THE    CANDIDATE 

meet  the  guest  the  correspondent  held  his  breath 
for  a  moment. 

Rare  and  beautiful  flowers  bloom  now  and  then  on 
the  cold  plain$  of  the  great  Northwest,  and  Harley 
said  in  his  heart  that  Helen  Anderson  was  one  of  the 
rarest  and  most  beautiful  of  them  all.  It  was  not 
alone  the  beauty  of  face  and  figure,  but  it  was,  even 
more,  the  nobility  of  expression  and  a  singular  touch 
of  pathos,  as  if  neither  youth  nor  beauty  had  kept 
from  her  a  great  sadness.  This  almost  hidden  note 
of  sorrow  seemed  to  Harley  to  make  perfect  her 
grace  and  charm,  and  he  felt,  stranger  though  he 
was,  that  he  was  willing  to  sacrifice  himself  to  pro 
tect  her  from  some  blow  unknown  to  him.  Speaking 
of  it  afterwards,  he  found  that  she  had  the  same  ef 
fect  upon  the  candidate.  "I  felt  that  I  must  be  her 
champion,"  said  Mr.  Grayson.  "Why,  I  did  not 
know,  but  I  wanted  to  fight  for  her." 

Miss  Anderson  herself  was  unconscious  of  the  im 
pression  that  she  created,  and  she  strove  only  to  enter 
tain  her  father's  guests,  a  task  in  which  she  achieved 
the  full  measure  of  success.  Mr.  Anderson  men 
tioned,  casually,  how  he  had  sent  her  to  Wellesley, 
and  Harley  saw  that  her  horizon  was  wider  than 
that  of  her  parents.  But  the  pathetic,  appealing 
look  came  now  and  then  into  her  beautiful  eyes,  and 
Harley  was  convinced  of  her  unhappiness.  Once  he 
saw  a  sudden  glance,  as  of  sympathy  and  understand 
ing,  pass  between  her  and  Sylvia. 

It  was  not  long  before  the  secret  of  Helen  Anderson 
was  told  to  him,  because  it  was  no  secret  at  all.  The 
whole  town  was  proud  of  her,  and  everybody  in  it 
knew  that  she  was  in  love  with  Arthur  Lee,  the 
young  lawyer  whose  sign  hung  on  the  main  street  of 
Egmont  before  an  office  which  was  yet  unvisited 

294 


THE    CANDIDATE 

by  clients.  It  was  true  love  on  both  sides,  they 
said,  with  sympathy;  they  had  been  boy  and  girl 
together,  and  during  her  long  stay  in  the  East  at 
school  she  had  never  forgotten  him.  But  Mr.  An 
derson  would  have  none  of  the  briefless  youth;  his 
prosperity  had  fed  his  pride — a  lawyer  without  a  case 
was  not  a  fit  match  for  his  daughter.  "If  you  were 
famous,  if  it  were  common  talk  that  some  day  you 
might  be  governor  or  United  States  senator,  I  might 
consent,  but,  sir,  you  have  done  nothing,"  he  had 
said,  with  cruel  sarcasm  to  Lee. 

It  was  a  bitter  truth,  and  Lee  himself,  high  and 
honorable  in  all  his  nature,  saw  it.  The  girl,  too, 
had  old-fashioned  ideas  of  duty  to  parents,  and  when 
her  father  bade  her  think  no  more  of  Lee  she  hum 
bly  bowed  her  head.  But  the  town  said,  and  the 
town  knew,  that  the  more  she  sought  to  put  him 
out  of  her  heart,  the  more  strongly  intrenched  was 
he  there;  that  while  she  now  tried  to  think  of  him 
not  at  all,  she  thought  of  him  all  the  time. 

The  whole  story  was  brought  to  Harley ;  it  was  not 
in  his  nature  to  pry  into  the  sacred  mysteries  of  a 
young  girl's  heart,  but  the  tale  moved  him  all  the 
more  deeply  when  he  saw  young  Lee,  a  man  with  a 
high,  noble  brow  and  clear,  open  eyes,  through  which 
his  honest  soul  shone,  that  all  might  see.  But  upon 
his  face  was  the  same  faint  veil  of  sadness  that  hov 
ered  over  Helen  Anderson's,  as  if  hope  were  lacking. 

Harley  met  young  Lee  two  or  three  times,  and  on 
each  occasion  purposely  prolonged  the  talk,  because 
the  young  lawyer  without  a  case  aroused  his  inter 
est  and  sympathy.  He  soon  discovered  that  Lee  had 
an  uncommon  mind,  acute,  penetrating,  and  on  fire 
with  noble  ideals.  But  it  was  a  fire  that  smouldered 
unseen.  He  had  never  had  a  chance;  it  would  come 

295 


THE   CANDIDATE 

to  him  some  day,  Harley  knew,  but  it  might  be,  it 
surely  would  be,  too  late.  Harley  had  seen  much  of 
the  world,  its  glory  and  its  shame  alike,  and  he  was 
convinced  that  nothing  else  in  it  was  worth  so  much 
to  man  as  the  spontaneous  love  of  a  pure  woman  and 
a  happy  marriage.  He  knew  from  dear  experience 
how  much  Lee  was  losing — nay,  had  lost  already — and 
his  pity  was  deeply  stirred.  He  wished  to  speak  of 
it  to  Sylvia,  but  the  thought  of  such  words  only  made 
his  own  wound  the  deeper.  The  whole  town  was  on 
the  side  of  the  lovers,  but  it  was  bound  and  helpless ; 
the  father's  command  and  Lee's  own  honor  were 
barriers  that  could  not  be  passed. 

The  people  about  Egmont  were  so  much  delighted 
with  Mr.  Grayson's  speech  that  they  demanded  a 
second  from  him,  and,  with  his  usual  good-nature, 
he  yielded,  although  Harley  knew  that  he  was  feel 
ing  the  strain  of  such  a  long  and  severe  campaign. 
The  evening  of  the  fifth  day  after  his  arrival  was  set 
for  the  time,  and  he  was  expected  to  deliver  the  ad 
dress  at  a  late  hour,  when  he  returned  from  one  of 
the  circle  of  villages. 

On  the  night  before  the  second  speech,  the  can 
didate  and  Harley,  who  were  now  staying  at  the 
hotel,  after  making  their  excuses  to  the  others,  slipped 
out  for  a  walk  in  the  cool  and  silence  of  the  dark. 
The  rarest  thing  in  Jimmy  Grayson's  life  now  was 
privacy,  and  he  longed  for  it  as  a  parched  throat 
longs  for  water;  it  was  only  at  such  times  as  this, 
with  a  late  hour  and  a  favoring  night,  that  he  could 
secure  it. 

Nearly  all  Egmont  was  in  bed,  and  they  turned 
from  the  chief  street  into  the  residence  quarter,  where 
a  few  lights  twinkled  amid  the  lawns  and  gardens. 
No  one  had  noticed  them,  and  Jimmy  Grayson,  with 

796 


THE    CANDIDATE 

a  sigh  of  relief,  drew  breaths  of  the  crisp,  cool  air  that 
came  across  a  thousand  miles  of  clean  prairie. 

"  What  a  splendid  night!"  he  said.  "What  a  grand 
horizon!" 

They  stood  upon  a  slight  elevation,  and  they  look 
ed  down  the  street  and  out  upon  the  prairie,  which 
rippled  away,  silver  in  the  moonlight,  like  the  waves 
of  the  sea.  A  wind,  faint,  like  a  happy  sigh,  was 
blowing. 

"An  evening  for  lovers,"  said  the  candidate,  and 
he  smiled  as  his  mind  ran  back  to  some  happy  even 
ings  in  his  own  life.  "Now,  why  should  such  a 
moonlight  as  this  ever  be  spoiled  by  a  political 
speech?"  he  continued. 

"I  was  thinking  of  lovers  myself,"  said  Harley, 
"because  here  is  the  Anderson  house  before  us. 
Don't  you  see  its  white  walls  shining  through  the 
trees?" 

"Poor  girl!"  said  the  candidate.  "It  is  a  terrible 
thing  for  a  woman  to  be  separated  from  the  man  she 
loves.  A  woman,  I  think,  can  really  love  but  once. 
And  yet  her  father's  pride  is  natural ;  young  Lee  has 
not  even  made  a  start  in  life." 

"All  he  needs  is  a  chance,  which  he  will  get — 
when  it  is  too  late,"  said  Harley. 

The  house  and  its  grounds,  surrounded  by  a  stone 
wall  not  more  than  three  feet  high,  occupied  an  en 
tire  square  in  the  outskirts  of  the  little  city,  and  the 
candidate  and  Harley  followed  the  least  frequented 
of  the  streets — one  running  beside  the  stone  wall, 
which  was  shaded  presently  by  thick  and  arching 
boughs  of  trees  that  grew  within.  As  they  entered 
the  shadow  they  saw  a  man  leap  over  the  low  bar 
rier  and  disappear  in  the  Anderson  grounds. 

"A  burglar!"  exclaimed  Harley.  His  first  thought 
297 


THE    CANDIDATE 

was  of  Helen  Anderson  and  her  beautiful,  appealing 
face,  and  without  a  moment's  hesitation  he  sprang 
over  the  wall  to  pursue.  Jimmy  Gray  son  looked  at 
him  in  astonishment,  and  then  followed. 

Harley  stopped  for  an  instant  inside  the  grounds, 
and  saw  the  dark  figure  just  ahead  of  him,  but  now 
walking  with  such  slowness  that  pursuit  was  easy. 
Evidently  the  burglar  was  making  sure  of  the  way 
before  he  sought  to  enter  the  Anderson  mansion ;  but 
Harley  was  surprised,  in  a  few  moments,  to  notice 
something  familiar  in  the  shoulders  and  bearing  of 
the  man  whom  he  followed.  His  burglar  never  look 
ed  back,  but  entered  an  open  space;  and  then  Harley, 
his  surprise  increasing,  stopped  when  he  saw  him  ap 
proach  a  little  summer-house  of  lattice-work.  The 
hand  of  the  candidate  fell  at  that  moment  upon  his 
arm,  and  a  deep  voice  said  in  his  ear: 

"I  think  we  have  gone  far  enough,  don't  you, 
Harley?" 

"I  do,"  replied  Harley,  with  conviction. 

A  woman  was  coming,  a  woman  with  a  beautiful, 
pale  face,  more  lovely  and  sad  than  ever  in  the  moon 
light,  and  the  two  men  knew  at  once  that  Helen  was 
about  to  meet  her  lover.  They  would  have  turned 
and  fled  from  the  grounds,  because  a  woman's  pure 
love  was  sacred,  to  be  hidden  from  all  eyes  and  ears 
save  those  of  one,  but  her  face  was  towards  them, 
and  had  they  stepped  from  the  shadow  of  the  oak 
she  would  have  seen  the  two. 

"Ah,  Helen!"  said  Lee,  as  he  met  her  and  took 
her  hands  in  his. 

"Arthur,  for  the  last  time!"  she  exclaimed. 

"Yes,  I  know  it  is  for  the  last  time,"  said  Arthur, 
and  there  was  a  moving  sadness  in  his  voice. 

Their  faces  were  turned  towards  the  two  there  in 
298 


THE    CANDIDATE 

the  shadow  of  the  great  oak,  although  unwitting  that 
others  were  so  near,  and  neither  man  dared  to  move. 
The  moonlight,  in  softened  silver,  fell  upon  the  faces 
of  the  lovers,  disclosing  all  the  beauty  of  the  wom 
an's  and  all  the  loftiness  of  the  man's.  Harley 
thought  he  had  never  seen  a  nobler  pair. 

The  man  took  both  the  girl's  hands  in  his  and  held 
them  for  a  few  moments.  Then  he  walked  back 
and  forth,  taking  quick  little  steps.  Every  motion 
of  his  figure  expressed  agony  and  despair.  The  girl 
stood  still,  and  her  face,  clearly  shown  in  the  moon 
light,  was  turned  towards  Harley;  it,  too,  expressed 
agony  and  despair;  but  her  stillness  showed  resigna 
tion,  Lee's  fierce  movements  were  full  of  rebellion. 

"I  am  going  away,  Helen,"  said  Arthur.  "I  have 
decided  upon  it.  I  shall  not  be  here  more  than  a 
week  or  two  longer.  I  cannot  be  in  the  same  town, 
seeing  you  every  day  and  knowing  that  you  cannot 
be  mine.  I  could  not  stand  it." 

"I  suppose  it  is  best,"  said  Helen;  "but,  Arthur, 
I  love  you.  I  have  told  you  that,  and  I  am  proud 
of  it.  I  shall  never  love  any  one  else.  It  is  not  pos 
sible." 

Her  beautiful,  pale  face  was  still  turned  towards 
Harley,  and  he  saw  again  upon  it  that  touch  of  in 
effable  sadness  and  resignation  that  had  moved  him 
so  deeply.  Lee  stopped  his  despairing  walk  back 
and  forth  and  looked  at  Helen.  Then  he  uttered  a 
little  cry  and  seized  her  hands  again. 

"Helen,"  he  said,  "I  cannot  do  it!  I  came  here 
to  give  you  up  forever,  to  tell  you  that  I  was  going 
away,  and  I  meant  to  go,  but  I  cannot  do  it.  We 
love  each  other — then  who  has  the  right  to  separate 
us  ?  I  thought  that  I  could  stand  this,  that  I  had  hard 
ened  myself  to  endure  it,  but  when  the  time  comes 

299 


THE    CANDIDATE 

I  find  that  it  is  too  much.  My  right  to  you  is  greater 
than  that  of  father  or  mother.  Come  with  me;  we 
can  go  to  Longford  to-night,  and  in  three  hours  we 
shall  be  man  and  wife." 

He  still  held  her  hands  in  his,  and  his  face  was 
flushed  and  his  eyes  shining  with  an  eager  but  noble 
passion. 

Harley  and  the  candidate,  in  the  shrubbery,  never 
stirred.  They  listened,  but  they  forgot  that  they 
were  listening. 

The  girl  lifted  her  eyes  to  those  of  her  lover,  and 
there  was  in  them  no  reproach,  only  a  high,  sad 
courage. 

"You  do  not  mean  what  you  say  now,  Arthur," 
she  said.  "I  have  given  my  promise  to  my  father, 
and  you  must  help  me  to  be  strong,  for  alone  I  am 
weak,  very  weak.  None  can  help  me  but  you.  You 
must  go,  as  you  said  you  would  go,  but  your  face  shall 
always  be  with  me  here.  Though  I  may  not  be 
your  wife,  I  shall  be  true  to  you  all  my  life." 

"In  such  moments  as  these  the  woman  is  always 
stronger  than  the  man,"  breathed  Jimmy  Gray  son. 

Lee  dropped  her  hands  again  and  walked  a  step 
or  two  away. 

"Helen,"  he  said,  "forgive  me,  and  forget  what  I 
said.  I  was  base  when  I  spoke.  But  I  have  found 
it  too  hard! — too  hard!" 

Her  eyes  still  expressed  no  reproach;  there  was  in 
them  something  almost  divine.  She  loved  him  the 
more  because  of  his  weakness,  although  she  would 
not  yield  to  it. 

"It  is  hard,  very  hard  for  us  both,"  she  whispered, 
"but  it  must  be  done.  But,  Arthur,  I  love  you.  I 
have  told  you  that,  and  I  am  not  ashamed  of  it.  I 
shall  never  love  any  one  else.  It  is  not  possible." 

300 


THE   CANDIDATE 

"  I  know  it.  I  know,  too,  that  your  heart  will  al 
ways  be  mine,  but,  as  the  world  sees  it,  your  father 
is  right.  I  am  nothing.  I  have  no  right  to  a  wife — 
above  all,  to  one  such  as  you.  I  feel  that  I  have  a 
power  within  me,  the  power  to  do  things  which  the 
world  would  call  good,  but  there  is  no  chance.  I 
suppose  that  the  chance  will  come  some  day — when 
it  is  too  late." 

Harley  started.  The  words  were  the  echo  of  his 
own.  "We  must  go,"  he  whispered  to  the  candi 
date.  "No  one  has  a  right  to  listen,  even  without 
intention,  at  this,  their  last  meeting."  Jimmy  Gray- 
son  had  already  turned  away,  and  by  the  faint  moon 
light  sifting  through  the  branches  Harley  saw  a  mist 
in  his  eyes.  But  their  movement  made  a  sound,  and 
the  lovers  looked  up. 

"  Did  you  hear  a  noise  ?  What  was  it  ?"  asked  Helen. 

"Only  a  lizard  in  the  grass  or  a  squirrel  rattling 
the  bark  of  a  tree,"  replied  Arthur. 

They  listened  a  moment,  but  they  heard  nothing 
more,  save  the  faint  stirring  of  the  wind  among  the 
leaves  and  the  grass. 

"Are  you  really  going,  Arthur?"  asked  Helen,  as 
if,  approving  it  once,  she  would  like  now  to  hear  him 
deny  it. 

He  looked  at  her,  his  face  flushing  and  his  eyes 
alight,  as  if  at  last  he  heard  her  ask  him  to  stay ;  but 
he  saw  in  her  gaze  only  brave  resolve.  She  could 
love  him,  and  yet  she  had  the  strength  to  sacrifice 
that  love  for  what  she  considered  her  duty.  He 
drew  courage  from  her,  and  he  lifted  his  head  proud 
ly,  although  his  eyes  expressed  grief  alone. 

"Yes,  I  have  only  to  start,"  he  replied;  "you  know 
I  have  little  to  take.  I  make  just  one  more  public 
appearance  in  Egmont.  Mr.  Grayson  speaks  here 

301 


again  to-morrow  night,  and  the  committee,  by  some 
chance — a  chance  it  must  have  been — has  put  me  on 
the  list  of  speakers." 

"Oh,  Arthur,  it  may  be  an  opportunity  for  you!" 

She  was  eager,  flushed,  her  eyes  flaming  and  up 
lifted  to  his. 

"It  might  be,  Helen,  at  any  other  time,  but  this  is 
evil  fortune.  I  am  of  the  other  party ;  I  must  speak 
against  him — we  are  fair  to  both  sides  here;  he  will 
have  the  right  of  rejoinder,  and  you  know  what  he 
is,  Helen — the  greatest  orator  in  America,  perhaps  in 
all  the  world.  No  one  yet  has  ever  been  able  to  de 
feat  him,  and  what  chance  have  I,  with  no  expe 
rience,  against  the  most  formidable  debater  in  exist 
ence  ?  I  should  shirk  it,  Helen,  if  the  people  would 
not  think  me  a  coward." 

"Oh,  Arthur,  what  an  ordeal!"  She  looked  up  at 
him  with  wet,  tender  eyes. 

Harley,  at  the  mention  of  Jimmy  Grayson's  name, 
glanced  away  from  the  lovers  and  towards  the  can 
didate.  He  saw  him  start,  and  a  singular,  soft  ex 
pression  pass  over  his  face,  to  be  followed  by  one  of 
doubt. 

"Now  I  shall  go,  Helen,"  said  Arthur.  "It  was 
wrong  of  me  to  ask  you  to  meet  me  here,  but  I  could 
not  go  away  without  seeing  you  alone  and  speaking 
to  you  alone,  as  I  do  now." 

"I  was  glad  to  come." 

He  took  her  hands  again,  and  for  a  few  moments 
they  stood,  gazing  into  each  other's  eyes,  where  they 
saw  all  the  grief  of  a  last  parting.  Harley  wished  to 
turn  his  gaze  away,  but,  somehow,  he  could  not. 
There  was  silence  in  the  grounds,  save  that  gentle, 
sighing  sound  of  the  wind  through  the  leaves  and 
grass,  and  only  the  moon  looked  down. 

302 


THE    CANDIDATE 

Suddenly  the  youth  bent  his  head,  kissed  the  girl 
on  the  lips,  and  then  ran  swiftly  through  the  shrub 
bery,  as  if  he  could  not  bear  to  hesitate  or  look 
back. 

"It  was  their  first  kiss,"  murmured  Harley. 

"I  did  not  see  it,"  said  Jimmy  Grayson,  turning 
his  eyes  away. 

"And  their  last,"  murmured  Harley. 

The  girl  stood  like  a  statue,  still  deadly  pale,  but 
Harley  saw  that  her  eyes  were  luminous.  It  was  the 
man  whom  she  loved  who  had  taken  her  first  kiss; 
nothing  could  alter  that  beautiful  fact.  She  listened, 
as  if  she  could  hear  his  last  retreating  footstep  on 
the  grass  dying  away  like  an  echo.  Harley  and 
the  candidate  watched  her  until  her  slender  figure 
in  the  white  draperies  was  hid  by  the  house,  and  then 
they,  too,  went  back  to  the  street. 

Neither  spoke  until  they  passed  the  low  stone  wall, 
and  then  the  candidate  said,  brusquely:  , 

"  Harley,  unless  this  moonlight  deceives  me,  there 
is  moisture  on  your  eyelids.  What  do  you  mean  by 
such  unmanly  weakness?" 

Harley  smiled,  but,  refraining  from  the  tu  quoque, 
left  Jimmy  Grayson  to  lead  the  way,  and  he  noticed 
that  he  chose  a  course  that  did  not  take  them  back 
to  the  hotel.  Moreover,  he  did  not  speak  again  for 
a  long  time,  and  Harley  walked  on  by  his  side,  silent, 
too,  but  thoughtful  and  keenly  observant.  He  saw 
that  his  friend  was  troubled,  and  he  divined  the  great 
struggle  that  was  going  on  in  his  mind.  Whether  he 
could  do  it  if  he  were  in  the  place  of  the  candidate 
he  was  unable  to  say,  and  he  was  glad  that  the  de 
cision  did  not  lie  with  himself. 

They  walked  on  and  on  until  they  left  the  town 
and  were  out  upon  the  broad  prairie,  where  the  wind 

303 


THE    CANDIDATE 

moaned  in  a  louder  key,  and  the  candidate's  face  was 
still  troubled. 

"Harley,"  said  the  candidate,  at  last,  "I  cannot 
get  rid  of  the  look  in  that  girl's  eyes." 

"I  do  not  wish  to  do  so,"  said  Harley. 

It  was  nearly  midnight  when  he  turned  and  began 
to  walk  back  towards  the  town.  The  moonlight, 
breaking  through  a  cloud,  again  flooded  Jimmy  Gray- 
son's  face,  and  Harley,  who  knew  him  so  well,  saw 
that  the  look  of  trouble  had  passed.  The  lips  were 
compressed  and  firm,  and  in  his  eyes  shone  the  clear 
light  of  decision.  Harley's  feelings,  as  he  saw,  were 
mingled,  a  strange  compound  of  elation  and  appre 
hension.  But  at  the  hotel  he  said,  gravely,  "Good 
night,"  and  the  candidate  replied  with  equal  serious 
ness,  "Good-night."  Neither  referred  to  what  they 
had  seen  nor  to  what  they  expected. 

The  second  speech  at  Egmont  drew  an  even  great 
er  audience  than  the  first,  as  the  fame  of  Jimmy  Gray- 
son's  powers  spread  fast,  and  there  would  be,  too, 
the  added  spice  of  combat;  members  of  the  other 
party  would  accept  his  challenge,  replying  to  his 
logic  if  they  could,  and  the  hall  was  crowded  early 
with  eager  people.  Harley,  sitting  at  the  back  of 
the  stage,  saw  the  Honorable  John  Anderson  come 
in,  importantly,  his  wife  under  one  arm  and  his 
daughter  under  the  other.  Helen  looked  paler  than 
ever,  but  here  under  the  electric  lights  her  sad  love 
liness  made  the  same  appeal  to  Harley.  Lee  arrived 
late,  and  although,  as  one  of  the  speakers,  he  was 
forced  to  sit  on  the  stage,  he  hid  himself  behind  the 
others.  But  a  single  glance  passed  between  the 
two,  and  then  the  girl  sat  silent  and  pale,  hoping 
against  hope  for  her  lover. 

The  candidate  spoke  well.  His  voice  was  as  deep 
304 


THE    CANDIDATE 

and  as  musical  as  ever,  and  his  sentences  rolled  as 
smoothly  as  before.  All  his  charm  and  magnetism 
of  manner  were  present ;  the  old  spell  which  he  threw 
over  everybody — a  spell  which  was  from  the  heart 
and  the  manner  as  well  as  from  the  meaning  of  his 
words — was  not  lacking,  but  to  Harley,  keenly  at 
tentive,  there  seemed  to  be  a  flaw  in  his  logic.  The 
reasoning  was  not  as  clear  and  compact  as  usual. 
Only  a  man  with  a  penetrating,  analytical  mind  would 
observe  it,  but  there  were  openings  here  and  there 
where  his  armor  could  be  pierced.  Blaisdell,  one  of 
the  correspondents,  noticed  the  fact,  and  he  whis 
pered  to  Harley: 

"It's  a  good  thing  that  Jimmy  Grayson  has  no 
great  speaker  against  him  to-night;  I  never  knew 
him  to  wander  from  the  point  before." 

"Where's  your  great  speaker?"  asked  Harley,  with 
irony. 

But  the  crowded  audience  was  oblivious.  It  heard 
only  the  music  of  the  candidate's  voice  and  felt 
only  the  spell  of  his  manner;  therefore,  it  was  with 
a  sort  of  contempt  that  it  looked  upon  Lee,  the  young 
lawyer  without  a  case,  who  rose  to  reply.  Lee  was 
pale,  but  there  was  a  fire  in  his  eyes,  as  if  he,  too, 
had  noticed  something,  and  Harley,  observing,  caught 
his  breath  sharply. 

The  correspondent  again  looked  down  at  the  girl, 
and  he  saw  a  deep  flush  sweep  over  her  face,  and  then, 
passing,  leave  it  deadly  pale.  The  next  moment  she 
averted  her  eyes  as  if  she  would  not  see  the  failure 
of  her  lover,  not  the  less  dear  to  her  because  he  was 
about  to  go  away  forever.  But  though  he  did  not 
see  her  face  now,  Harley,  as  he  looked  at  the  bent  head, 
could  read  her  mind.  He  knew  that  she  was  quiver 
ing;  he  knew  that  she,  too,  had  been  completely  un- 


THE    CANDIDATE 

der  the  spell  of  the  candidate's  great  voice  and  man 
ner,  and  she  feared  the  painful  contrast. 

Harley  glanced  once  at  Jimmy  Grayson,  sitting 
quietly,  all  expression  dismissed  from  his  face,  and 
then  he  looked  back  at  the  girl;  she  should  receive 
all  his  attention  now.  Presently  he  saw  her  raise 
her  head,  the  color  returned  to  her  face,  and  a  sud 
den  look  of  wonder  and  hope  appeared  in  her  eyes. 
Arthur  was  speaking,  not  timidly,  not  like  one  beat 
en,  but  in  a  strong,  clear  voice,  and  with  a  logic  that 
was  keen  and  merciless  he  drove  straight  at  the  weak 
points  in  the  candidate's  address.  Even  Harley  was 
surprised  at  his  skill  and  penetration. 

The  correspondent  watched  Helen,  and  he  read 
every  step  of  her  lover's  progress  in  her  eyes.  The 
wonder  and  hope  there  grew,  and  the  hope  turned 
to  delight.  She  looked  up  at  her  father,  as  if  to  tell 
him  how  much  he  had  misjudged  Arthur,  and  that 
here,  in  truth,  was  the  beginning  of  greatness;  and 
the  important  man,  as  he  felt  her  eyes  upon  him, 
moved  uneasily  in  his  seat. 

The  feelings  of  the  audience  were  mingled,  but 
among  them  amazement  led  all  the  rest.  The  great 
Jimmy  Grayson,  the  Presidential  nominee,  the  un 
conquerable,  the  man  of  world-wide  fame,  the  victor 
of  every  campaign,  was  being  beaten  by  a  young 
townsman  of  their  own,  not  known  twenty  miles 
from  home.  Incredible  as  it  seemed,  it  was  true ;  the 
fact  was  patent  to  the  dullest  in  the  hall.  Harley 
saw  a  look  of  astonishment  and  then  dismay  over 
spread  the  faces  of  Mrs.  Grayson  and  Sylvia,  and  he 
knew  that  of  all  in  the  hall  they  were  suffering  most 
acutely. 

The  keen,  cutting  voice  went  on,  tearing  Jimmy 
Grayson's  argument  to  pieces,  clipping  off  a  section 

306 


THE   CANDIDATE 

here  and  a  section  there,  and  tossing  the  fragments 
aside.  By  -  and  -  by  the  amazement  of  the  people 
gave  way  to  delight.  Their  home  pride  was  touched. 
This  boy  of  their  own  was  doing  what  no  other  had 
ever  been  able  to  do.  They  began  to  thunder  forth 
applause,  and  the  women  waved  their  handkerchiefs. 
Hobart  leaned  over  and  whispered  to  Harley: 

"Old  man,  what  does  this  mean?  Is  Jimmy 
Gray  son  sick?" 

"He  was  never  better  than  he  is  to-night." 

Hobart  gave  him  an  inquiring  look. 

"I'll  ask  more  about  this  later,"  he  said. 

But  Harley  already  had  turned  his  attention  back 
to  Helen,  and  as  he  watched  the  growing  joy  on  her 
face  his  own  heart  responded.  It  was  relief,  elation, 
that  he  felt  now,  and,  for  the  moment,  no  appre 
hension.  He  saw  the  color  yet  flushing  her  cheeks, 
and  the  eyes  alight  with  life  and  joy.  He  saw  her 
suddenly  clasp  her  father's  arm  in  both  hands,  and, 
though  he  was  too  far  away  to  hear,  he  knew  well 
that  she  was  telling  him  what  a  great  man  Arthur 
was  going  to  be.  For  her  all  obstacles  were  driven 
away  by  this  sudden  flood  of  fortune,  and  Harley 
again  saw  the  important  man  move  uneasily  while 
a  look,  half  fear,  half  shame,  came  into  his  eyes. 

The  speech  was  finished,  and  young  Lee,  a  man 
now  on  a  pedestal,  sat  down  amid  thunders  of  ap 
plause.  Jimmy  Grayson  undertook  to  respond,  but 
for  the  first  time  in  his  life  he  was  weak  and  halting. 
He  wandered  on  lamely,  and  at  last  retired  amid  faint 
cheers,  to  be  followed  quickly  by  an  astonished  silence. 
Then,  when  the  people  recovered  themselves,  they 
poured  in  a  tumult  from  the  hall;  but  the  hero  to 
whom  they  turned  admiringly  was  Arthur  Lee,  their 
own  youthful  townsman,  and  not  the  candidate. 

307 


THE    CANDIDATE 

The  next  day  Hobart  told  Harley  that  Lee  had 
won  everything.  Mr.  Anderson,  sharing  the  pride 
of  Egmont,  could  resist  no  longer,  and  had  with 
drawn  his  refusal.  Arthur  and  Helen  would  be  mar 
ried  in  the  winter. 

"You  see, "said  Hobart,  "  young  Lee  is  now  ahero." 

"But  not  the  greatest  hero,"  said  Harley. 

"That  is  true,"  said  Hobart,  and  then  he  added, 
after  a  moment's  pause,  "  I  could  never  have  done  it." 

But  that  night,  when  Jimmy  Grayson  left  the  hall, 
he  went  at  once  to  the  hotel  with  Mrs.  Grayson. 
Luckily  there  was  a  side-door,  out  of  which  they  slip 
ped  so  quietly  and  quickly  that  not  many  people 
had  a  chance  either  to  pity  him  or  to  exult  over 
him,  at  least  in  his  presence.  Yet  he  did  not  fail  to 
notice  more  than  one  sneer  on  the  faces  of  those  who 
belonged  to  the  other  party,  and  his  cheeks  burned 
for  a  moment,  as  James  Grayson,  the  candidate,  had 
his  full  store  of  human  pride. 

In  the  hall  the  amazed  crowd  lingered,  and  the 
correspondents,  not  less  surprised  than  the  people, 
gathered  in  a  group  to  talk  it  over.  Sylvia  was  there, 
too,  and  she  was  almost  in  tears.  To  none  had  the 
blow  been  harder  than  to  her,  and  she  was  so  stunned 
that  she  could  yet  scarcely  credit  it.  All  of  the  group 
were  sad  except  Churchill,  who  felt  all  the  glory  of 
an  I-told-you-so  come  to  judgment. 

"It  was  bound  to  happen,  sooner  or  later,"  he 
said,  when  he  noticed  that  Sylvia  was  not  listening; 
"  the  man  is  all  froth  and  foam,  but  who  could  have 
thought  that  the  bubble  would  be  pricked  by  an  ob 
scure  little  Western  attorney?  Was  ever  anything 
more  ignominious?" 

Then  the  ancient  beau,  Tremaine,  spoke  from  a 
soul  that  was  stirred  to  the  depths, 

308 


THE   CANDIDATE 

"Churchill,"  he  exclaimed,  "I've  been  travelling 
about  the  world  forty  years,  but  there  are  times  when 
I  think  you  are  the  meanest  man  I  ever  met." 

Churchill  flushed  and  clinched  his  fist,  but  thought 
better  of  it,  and  turned  off  the  matter  with  an  un 
easy  laugh. 

"Tremaine,"  he  said,  "the  older  you  grow  the 
fonder  you  become  of  superlatives." 

"I  admired  Jimmy  Grayson  in  his  triumphs,  and 
I  admire  him  more  than  ever  in  his  defeat,"  said 
Tremaine,  still  bristling,  and  fiercely  twisting  his 
short,  gray  mustache. 

"Mr.  Tremaine,  I  want  to  thank  you,"  said  Sylvia, 
who,  turning  to  them,  had  heard  Tremaine's  warm 
speech;  and  she  put  her  hand  in  his  for  a  moment, 
which  was  to  him  ample  repayment. 

Harley  stood  by,  and  was  silent  because  he  did  not 
know  what  to  say.  To  state  that  Mr.  Grayson  had 
allowed  himself  to  be  beaten  for  a  purpose  would  have 
an  incredible  look  in  print — it  would  seem  the  poor 
est  of  excuses ;  nor  did  he  wish  to  make  use  of  it  in 
the  presence  of  Churchill,  who  would  certainly  jeer 
at  it  and  present  it  in  his  despatches  as  a  ridiculous 
plea.  He  had  begun  to  have  a  certain  sensitiveness 
in  regard  to  the  candidate,  and  he  did  not  wish  to  be 
forced  into  a  quarrel  with  Churchill. 

But  Sylvia  caught  a  slight  smile,  a  smile  of  irony, 
in  the  eyes  of  Harley,  and  the  tears  in  her  own  dried 
up  at  once.  She  felt  instinctively,  with  all  the  quick 
ness  of  a  woman's  intuition,  that  Harley  knew  some 
thing  about  the  speech  which  she  did  not  know,  but 
she  meant  to  know  it,  and  she  watched  for  an  op 
portunity. 

They  were  turning  out  the  lights  in  the  hall  and 
the  people  began  to  go  away,  the  correspondents 

309 


THE    CANDIDATE 

closing  up  the  rear.  Sylvia  fell  back  with  Harley, 
and  touched  his  arm  lightly. 

"There  is  something! that  you  are  not  telling  me," 
she  said. 

"  I  am  willing  to  tell  it  to  you,  because  you  will  be 
lieve  it." 

Tremaine,  with  ever-ready  gallantry,  was  about 
to  join  them,  but  Sylvia  said: 

"I  thank  you,  Mr.  Tremaine,  but  Mr.  Harley  has 
promised  to  see  me  to  the  hotel." 

Her  tone  was  light,  but  so  decisive  that  Tremaine 
turned  back  at  once,  and  Hobart,  who  was  ahead, 
hid  a  smile. 

"Now,  I  want  to  know  what  it  is,"  she  said,  eager 
ly,  to  Harley.  "That  was  a  good  speaker,  an  able 
man,  but  I  don't  believe  that  he  or  anybody  else 
could  beat  Uncle  James.  How  did  it  happen?" 

Harley  did  not  answer  her  at  once,  because  it 
seemed  to  him  just  then  that  the  action  of  Jimmy 
Grayson  was  an  illustration,  and  the  idea  was  hot  in 
his  mind. 

"Perhaps  there  is  nothing  to  tell,  after  all,"  she 
said,  and  her  face  fell. 

"There  is  something  to  tell;  I  hesitated  because  I 
was  looking  for  the  best  way  to  tell  it.  Mr.  Gray- 
son  to-night  made  a  sacrifice  of  himself,  purposely 
and  willingly." 

"A  sacrifice  of  himself!  How  could  he  have  done 
such  a  thing?" 

"  For  the  best  reason  that  makes  a  man  do  such  a 
thing.  For  love." 

She  stared  at  him  a  moment,  and  then  broke  into 
a  puzzled  but  ironic  laugh. 

"You  are  certainly  dreaming  a  romance.  Uncle 
James  and  Aunt  Anna  have  been  happily  married 

310 


THE    CANDIDATE 

for  years,  and  there  is  nothing  now  that  could  force 
him  to  make  such  a  sacrifice." 

Harley  smiled,  and  his  smile  was  rarely  tender, 
because  he  was  thinking  at  that  moment  of  Sylvia. 

"The  sacrifice  was  not  to  help  his  own  cause,  but 
the  cause  of  another,  the  cause  of  the  man  who  beat 
him — that  is,  seemed  to  beat  him.  Mr.  Lee,  through 
his  victory  to-night,  wins  the  girl  whom  he  loves, 
and  he  could  have  won  her  in  no  other  way.  There 
are  people  who  can  do  great  deeds  and  make  great 
sacrifices  for  love,  even  to  help  the  love  of  two  others. 
It  will  be  printed  in  every  paper  of  the  United  States 
in  the  morning  that  Mr.  Grayson  was  defeated  in 
debate  to-night  by  a  young  local  lawyer.  His  pres 
tige  will  be  greatly  impaired." 

Her  eyes  glowed,  and  her  face,  too,  became  rarely 
tender. 

"Uncle  James  was  truly  great  to-night!"  she  ex 
claimed. 

"At  his  greatest.  I  know  of  no  other  man  who 
could  have  done  it.  After  all,  Sylvia,  don't  you 
think  love  is  the  greatest  and  purest  of  motives,  and 
that  we  should  consider  it  first?" 

"John,"  she  said,  and  it  was  the  first  time  that 
she  had  ever  called  him  by  his  first  name,  "you 
must  not  tempt  me  to  break  my  sacred  word  to  the 
man  to  whom  I  owe  all  things.  Oh,  John,  don't  you 
see  how  hard  it  is  for  me,  and  won't  you  help  me  to 
bear  it,  instead  of  making  the  burden  heavier?" 

She  turned  upon  him  a  face  of  such  pathetic  ap 
peal  that  Harley  was  abashed. 

"Sylvia,"  he  replied,  almost  in  a  whisper,  "God 
knows  that  I  do  not  wish  to  make  you  unhappy,  nor 
do  I  wish  to  make  you  do  what  is  wrong.  I  spoke 
so  because  I  could  not  help  it.  Do  you  think  that  I 

3" 


THE    CANDIDATE 

can  love  you,  and  know  you  to  be  what  you  are,  and 
then  stand  idly  by  and  see  you  passing  to  another  ?  I 
believe  in  silence  and  endurance,  but  not  in  such 
silence  and  endurance  as  that.  It  is  too  much! 
God  never  asks  it  of  a  man!" 

She  looked  at  him.  Her  eyes  were  dewy  and  ten 
der,  filled  with  love,  a  love  tinged  with  sorrow,  but 
he  saw  the  brave  resolution  shining  there,  and  he 
knew  that,  despite  all,  she  would  keep  her  word  un 
less  "King"  Plummer  himself  willingly  released  her 
from  it.  And  he  loved  her  all  the  more  because  she 
was  so  true. 

"Sylvia,"  he  said,  "I  was  wrong.  I  should  not 
have  spoken  to  you  in  such  a  manner.  I  am  a  weak 
coward  to  make  your  duty  all  the  harder  for  you." 

They  were  at  the  "ladies'  entrance"  of  the  hotel, 
and  the  others  either  had  gone  in  or  had  turned  aside. 
They  were  alone,  and  she  bent  a  little  towards  him. 

"The  things  that  you  say  may  be  wrong,"  she 
whispered,  "but — oh,  John — I  love  to  hear  you  say 
them!" 

Then  she  went  into  the  hotel,  and  Harley  wisely 
did  not  seek  to  follow. 


XIX 

AN   IDAHO    STORM 

AdONG  the  mountains  of  Idaho,  a  dark  storm- 
cloud,  ribbed  with  flashes  of  steel-edged  light 
ning,  was  growing.  For  thirty  years  "King"  Plum- 
mer  had  lived  a  life  after  his  own  mind,  and  it  had 
been  a  very  free  life.  In  four  or  five  states  he  was  a 
real  monarch,  and  there  was  nothing  at  all  derisive 
about  his  nickname.  At  fifty  he  was  at  his  mental 
and  physical  zenith,  never  before  had  he  felt  so 
strong,  both  in  body  and  mind,  so  capable  of  doing 
great  deeds,  and  with  so  keen  a  zest  in  life.  The 
blood  flowed  in  a  rich,  red  tide  through  his  veins,  and 
he  breathed  the  breath  of  morning  like  a  youth. 

To  this  big,  strong  man,  rioting  in  the  very  ful 
ness  of  life,  came  Mrs.  Grayson's  letter.  He  was  not 
in  Boise"  when  it  arrived  there,  but  it  was  forwarded 
to  him  at  a  mining-camp  in  the  very  highest  moun 
tains.  He  read  it  early  one  morning  sitting  on  a 
big  rock  at  the  edge  of  a  valley  that  dropped  off 
three  thousand  feet  below,  and  first  there  was  a 
shade  of  annoyance  on  his  face,  to  be  followed  by  a 
frown,  which  gave  way  in  its  turn  to  an  angry  red 
flush. 

But  while  the  shade  of  annoyance  was  still  on  his 
face  the  "King"  asked,  "What  is  she  driving  at?" 
and  then,  when  it  was  replaced  by  the  frown,  he 
muttered,  "Why  does  she  waste  so  much  time  on 

313 


THE    CANDIDATE 

Harley  and  a  marriage  for  him?"  and  then,  when  the 
red  flush  came,  he  exclaimed,  "Damn  the  Eastern 
kid!"  In  the  mind  of  "King"  Plummer  everybody 
who  did  not  live  west  of  the  Missouri  River  was 
Eastern. 

He  read  the  letter  over  four  or  five  times,  and  it 
sank  deeper  and  deeper  into  his  soul,  and  as  it  sank 
it  burned  like  fire.  All  that  he  had  feared,  but 
which  he  had  refused  to  believe  when  he  came  away, 
was  true.  Sylvia  did  not  love  him,  but  she  loved 
that  raw  youngster  Harley.  And  here  was  Mrs. 
Grayson,  the  wife  of  a  man  who  was  under  obliga 
tions  to  him,  whom  he  could  ruin,  hinting  that  he 
give  her  up,  and  she  a  woman  whom  he  had  sup 
posed  to  be  endowed  with  at  least  ordinary  intel 
ligence. 

In  his  wrath,  which  was  mighty,  "  King"  Plummer 
swore  at  the  whole  tribe  of  women  as  fickle,  heart 
less  creatures.  Then  he  rose  to  his  feet,  clinched  his 
fist,  shook  it  at  the  opposite  mountain  across  the 
valley,  and  swore  aloud  at  all  creation.  And  "  King" 
Plummer  knew  how  to  swear;  he  was  no  mealy- 
mouthed  man;  his  had  been  a  wild  and  tumultuous 
youth,  and  though  he  would  never  use  oaths  in  the 
presence  of  Sylvia,  he  could  still,  in  the  seclusion  of 
mountain  or  desert,  let  fly  an  imprecating  volley  that 
would  burn  the  rocks  themselves.  It  was  apparent 
to  some  miners  coming  up  the  slope  that  their  chief 
was  no  extinct  volcano,  and  they  wisely  passed  in 
silence  on  the  other  side. 

For  the  present  there  was  little  grief  in  the 
"King's"  outpouring;  the  tide  of  wrath  was  too  full 
and  sparkling  to  be  tinged  yet  awhile  by  other  cur 
rents,  and  just  now  it  flowed  most  against  Mrs. 
Grayson,  who  had  been  bold  enough  to  tell  him 


THE    CANDIDATE 

what  he  was  least  willing  to  hear.  His  heart,  too, 
was  full  of  unspoken  threats,  as  "King"  Plummer 
was  a  passionate  man  who  had  lived  a  rough  life, 
close  to  the  ground,  and  full  of  primitive  emotions. 
And  the  threats  he  expressed  in  words  were  such  as 
these:  "They  shall  pay  for  it!"  "I  helped  put  that 
husband  of  hers  where  he  is,  I  helped  make  him,  and 
I  can  help  unmake  him;  and,  by  thunder,  I  will  do 
it,  too!"  In  the  hour  of  his  wrath  he  hated  Jimmy 
Grayson,  and  his  head  was  filled  with  sudden  schemes. 
He  would  "teach  the  man  what  it  was  to  play  the 
King  of  the  Mountains  for  a  sucker,"  and,  still  raging, 
he  cast  from  him  all  the  ties  of  party  and  association. 

Within  an  hour  he  was  on  his  swiftest  horse,  rid 
ing  furiously  towards  Boise",  his  heart  full  of  anger 
and  his  head  full  of  plans  for  revenge. 

Nor  was  he  sparing  in  speech  when  he  reached 
Boise.  His  words  cracked  so  loud  that  the  echo  of 
them  travelled  several  hundred  miles  and  reached 
Mrs.  Grayson,  who  was  waiting  vainly  for  a  reply  to 
a  letter  that  she  had  written  nearly  two  weeks  be 
fore.  Now,  no  reply  was  necessary,  because  this  news 
was  what  she  had  feared,  but  which  she  had  hoped 
would  not  come. 

The  report  was  winged  and  full  of  alarms.  "  King" 
Plummer,  shooting  out  of  the  mountains  like  a  can 
non-ball,  had  made  his  appearance  in  the  streets  of 
Boise,  openly  denouncing  Jimmy  Grayson,  calling 
him  a  traitor,  and  saying  that  he  would  beat  him  if 
he  had  to  ruin  himself  to  do  it.  What  had  caused 
this  sudden  change  nobody  knew,  but  it  must  be 
something  astonishing,  and  it  behooved  the  candi 
date  to  explain  himself  quickly. 

The  loyal  soul  of  the  candidate's  wife  flashed  back 
an  angry  reply  across  the  five  hundred  miles  of 


THE   CANDIDATE 

mountain  and  desert.  If  "King"  Plummet  was  not 
the  man  she  had  hoped  he  was,  then  they  preferred 
that  they  should  fight  him  rather  than  have  him  as 
a  false  friend.  Yet  there  was  in  her  heart  a  throb 
of  admiration  for  him,  because  he  was  willing  to 
throw  everything  overboard  for  the  love  of  a  woman. 

The  defection  clothed  the  whole  train  in  the  deep 
est  gloom.  Tremaine  spoke  for  the  group  when  he 
said  it  was  all  up  with  Jimmy  Grayson,  and  the 
others  did  not  have  the  heart  even  to  pretend  to  a 
different  belief.  With  a  Plummer  defection  on  one 
side  and  a  Goodnight  falling  away  on  the  other,  there 
was  no  hope  left  for  a  party  which  even  with  these 
wings  faithful  had  only  a  desperate  fighting  chance. 

Harley  was  thoroughly  miserable.  He  could  guess 
— no,  he  did  not  guess,  he  knew  the  cause  of  "King" 
Plummer's  bolt,  and  he  knew,  too,  that  if  it  were 
not  for  himself  it  would  never  have  occurred;  he 
had  wrecked  all  the  future  of  others,  nor  in  making 
such  a  wreck  had  he  secured  his  own  happiness, 
provided  even  that  he  was  selfish  enough  to  be  happy 
when  others  were  ruined. 

Sylvia,  too,  was  sunk  in  the  depths.  She  did  not 
have  to  be  told  that  her  aunt  had  written  to  Mr. 
Plummer;  she  guessed  that  Mr.  Plummer  had  re 
ceived  some  warning,  some  message,  it  did  not  mat 
ter  from  whom,  nothing  else  could  cause  him  to 
burst  forth  with  such  violence,  and  the  very  nature 
of  the  case  forbade  her  from  speaking;  she  could  only 
keep  silent,  knowing  that  significant  talk  was  going 
on  all  around  her,  and  pass  sleepless  nights  and 
troubled  days. 

The  situation  brought  a  thrill  of  satisfaction  and 
interest  to  one  man  on  the  train,  and  he  was  Church 
ill.  The  cumulative  effect  of  "King"  Plummer's 


THE    CANDIDATE^ 

bolt  might  force  Jimmy  Gray  son  off  the  track,  and 
it  was  not  yet  too  late  to  put  up  another  candidate. 
Such  a  thing  had  never  been  done,  but  that  was  no 
reason  why  it  could  not  succeed,  and  he  telegraphed 
Mr.  Goodnight  that  Mr.  Grayson  was  very  despond 
ent,  and  that  those  about  him  knew  he  did  not  have 
a  ghost  of  a  chance. 

Churchill  guessed  close  to  the  cause  of  the  Plummer 
bolt,  but  he  was  not  sure,  and  for  that  and  other  rea 
sons  he  at  once  sought  an  interview  with  the  nominee. 

Mr.  Grayson  was  courteous,  and  seemingly  not  as 
despondent  as  Churchill  had  described  him.  He 
said  that  he  could  not  speak  of  Mr.  Plummer's  de 
fection,  because  he  had  no  official  knowledge  of  the 
fact;  it  was  merely  report,  and  hence  he  could  not 
comment  on  what  was  not  proved.  Mr.  Churchill, 
he  knew,  would  readily  recognize  the  unfitness  of 
such  a  thing,  nor  could  he  tell  what  he  should  do  in 
supposititious  cases,  because,  even  if  the  latter  came 
true,  circumstances  might  give  them  another  ap 
pearance. 

Churchill  skirmished  as  delicately  as  he  could  about 
the  subject  of  Sylvia  and  the  surmise  that  she  was 
the  key  to  the  situation,  which,  if  true,  would  make 
one  of  the  greatest  stories  told  in  a  newspaper;  but 
here  the  candidate  was  impervious.  Not  only  was  he 
impervious,  but  he  seemed  to  be  densely  ignorant; 
all  the  hints  of  Churchill  glided  off  him  like  arrows 
from  a  steel  breast-plate,  all  the  most  delicate  and 
skilful  art  of  the  interviewer  failed.  So  far  as  con 
cerned  the  subject  of  politics,  Sylvia  was  unknown 
to  Mr.  Grayson.  Baffled  upon  this  interesting  point, 
Churchill  retired  to  write  his  interview;  but  as  he 
rested  his  pad  upon  the  car -seat  and  sharpened  his 
pencil  he  flung  out  a  feeler  or  two. 


THE    CANDIDATE 

"I  say,  Hobart,"  he  said  to  the  mystery  man,  who 
sat  just  in  front  of  him,  "I  think  there's  something 
at  the  bottom  of  this  Plummer  revolt  that  we  haven't 
probed.  Now,  isn't  it  the  truth  that  Miss  Morgan 
has  thrown  him  over,  and  that  he  is  taking  his  re 
venge  on  her  uncle?" 

Hobart  glanced  up  the  car,  and  noticed  that  Har- 
ley  was  not  within  hearing.  Then  he  replied,  gravely: 

"Churchill,  I  don't  believe  that  Miss  Morgan  has 
broken  her  engagement  with  the  'King' — she'll 
marry  him  yet  if  he  says  so — but  I  do  believe  that 
she  has  some  connection  with  this  affair.  What  it 
is,  I  don't  know,  and  I'm  mighty  glad  that  I  don't 
have  to  speak  of  it  in  my  despatches;  it's  too  in 
tangible." 

But  Churchill  was  not  so  scrupulous.  Without 
giving  any  names,  he  wove  into  his  four-thousand- 
word  despatch  a  very  beautiful  and  touching  ro 
mance,  in  which  Jimmy  Grayson  figured  rather  badly 
—  in  fact,  somewhat  as  an  evil  genius  —  and  the 
Monitor,  dealing  in  the  fine  vein  of  irony  which  it 
considered  its  strongest  card,  wrote  scornfully  of  a 
campaign  into  which  personal  issues  were  obtruding 
to  such  an  extent  that  they  were  shattering  it.  The 
Monitor  still  affected  to  see  some  good  in  Mr.  Gray- 
son,  but  put  the  bad  in  such  high  relief  that  the 
good  merely  set  it  off,  like  those  little  patches  that 
ladies  wear  on  their  faces.  And  the  mystery  of  the 
Plummer  bolt,  involving  a  young  and  beautiful  wom 
an,  just  hinted  at  in  the  despatches,  heightened  the 
effect  of  the  story.  "King"  Plummer  himself  ap 
peared  to  the  reading  public  as  a  martyr,  and  even 
to  many  old  partisans  party  rebellion  seemed  in  this 
case  honorable  and  heroic. 

For  a  day  or  so  Harley  scarcely  spoke  to  anv  one, 


THE    CANDIDATE 

and,  as  far  as  was  possible  within  the  limited  confines 
of  a  train,  he  avoided  Sylvia.  He  did  not  wish  to 
see  her,  because  he  was  strengthening  himself  to 
carry  out  a  great  resolution  which  he  meant  to  take. 
In  this  crisis  he  turned  to  only  one  person,  and  that 
was  Mr.  Heathcote,  who  he  felt  would  give  him  ad 
vice  that  was  right  and  true. 

When  Harley  told  Mr.  Heathcote  of  his  purpose, 
the  committeeman's  face  became  grave,  but  he  said, 
"  It  is  the  hard  thing  for  you  to  do,  although  it  is  the 
best  thing."  An  hour  later,  Harley  sent  to  his 
editor  in  New  York  a  despatch,  asking  to  be  recalled; 
he  said  there  had  arisen  personal  reasons  which  would 
make  him  valueless  for  the  rest  of  the  campaign,  and 
he  felt  that  the  Gazette  would  be  the  gainer  if  he 
were  transferred  to  another  field  of  activity. 

Harley  felt  a  deep  pang,  and  he  did  not  attempt 
to  disguise  it  from  himself,  when  he  sent  this  tele 
gram,  but  after  it  was  gone  his  conscience  came  to 
his  relief,  although  he  still  avoided  the  presence  of 
Sylvia  with  great  care.  But  the  pang  was  repeated 
many  times,  as  he  sat  silent  among  his  companions 
and  calculated  how  he  could  leave  them  that  night 
and  get  a  train  for  New  York  in  the  morning. 

He  was  still  sitting  among  them  about  the  twilight 
hour  when  the  conductor  handed  him  a  telegraphic 
despatch,  and  Harley  knew  that  it  was  from  his 
editor,  who  had  a  high  appreciation  of  his  merits, 
both  personal  and  professional.  The  message  was 
brief  and  pointed.  It  said:  "Can't  understand  your 
request  for  a  transfer.  Your  despatches  from  the 
campaign  best  work  you  have  ever  done;  not  only 
have  all  news,  but  write  from  the  inside;  you  pre 
sent  the  candidate  as  he  is.  Have  telegraphed  Mr. 
Gray  son  asking  if  there  is  any  quarrel,  and  in 

319 


THE    CANDIDATE 

reply  he  makes  special  request  that  you  represent 
Gazette  with  him  to  the  end.  Stay  till  you  are  sent 
for,  and  don't  bother  me  again." 

Harley  read  it  over  a  second  time.  Despite  him 
self  he  smiled,  and  he  smiled  because  he  felt  a  throb 
ot  pleasure.  "Good  old  chief,"  he  said,  and  he  un 
derstood  now  that  a  refusal  of  his  request  was  a  hope 
that  he  had  dared  not  utter  to  himself.  But  he  knew 
that  he  should  have  taken  the  great  risk. 

He  showed  the  despatch  to  Mr.  Heathcote,  and  the 
committeeman  was  sincerely  glad. 

"Your  editor  has  done  his  duty,"  he  said. 

Mr.  Grayson  did  not  allude  to  the  subject,  and 
Harley  respected  his  silence,  although  devoutly  grate 
ful  for  the  reply  that  he  had  made. 

Other  telegrams  caused  by  the  threatened  revolt 
in  the  mountains  were  also  passing;  some  of  them 
stopped  at  the  house  of  Mr.  Plummer,  in  Boise,  and 
upon  the  trail  of  one  of  these  telegrams,  a  forcible 
one,  came  a  thin-faced  and  quiet  but  alert  man,  Mr. 
Henry  Crayon,  who  in  his  way  was  a  power  in  both  the 
financial  and  political  worlds.  Mr.  Crayon  was  per 
haps  the  most  trusted  of  the  lieutenants  of  the  Hon 
orable  Clinton  Goodnight,  and  the  two  had  held  a 
long  conference  before  his  departure  for  the  West, 
agreeing  at  the  end  of  it  that  "it  was  time  to  make 
a  move,  and  after  that  move  to  spring  a  live 
issue." 

Mr.  Crayon  was  fairly  well  informed  of  the  causes 
that  agitated  the  soul  of  "King"  Plummer,  and  as 
he  shot  westward  on  a  Limited  Continental  Express 
he  considered  the  best  way  of  approach,  inclining  as 
always  to  delicate  but  incisive  methods.  Long  be 
fore  he  reached  Boise*  his  mind  was  well  made  up, 
and  he  felt  content  because  he  anticipated  no  diffi- 

320 


THE    CANDIDATE 

culty  in  handling  the  crude  mountaineer,  who  was 
unused  to  the  ways  of  diplomacy. 

He  found  the  "  King"  in  Boise,  still  hot  and  sulky. 
Mr.  Plummer  had  not  heard  anything  in  person  from 
the  Graysons,  nor  had  he  sent  any  message  to  them, 
and  the  mountains  were  full  of  talk  about  his  bolt, 
which  was  now  spoken  of  as  an  accepted  fact. 

Mr.  Crayon's  first  meeting  with  Mr.  Plummer  came 
about  in  quite  an  accidental  and  easy  way — Mr. 
Crayon  saw  to  that — and  the  Easterner  was  deferen 
tial,  as  became  one  who  had  so  little  experience  of  the 
West,  who,  in  case  he  was  presumptuous,  was  likely 
to  be  reminded  that  Idaho  was  nearly  twenty  times 
as  large  as  Connecticut  and  twice  as  large  as  the 
state  of  New  York  itself.  After  making  himself 
pleasant  by  humility  and  requests  for  advice,  Mr. 
Crayon  glided  warily  into  the  subject  of  politics.  He 
disclosed  to  Mr.  Plummer  how  much  a  powerful 
faction  in  the  party  was  displeased  with  Mr.  Gray- 
son,  and  the  equally  important  fact  that  this  faction 
felt  the  necessity  of  speedy  action  of  some  kind. 

They  were  at  that  moment  in  a  secluded  corner  of 
the  reading-room  of  the  chief  hotel  in  Boise",  and  Mr. 
Crayon  had  ordered  a  pleasant  and  powerful  West 
ern  concoction  which  he  and  Mr.  Plummer  sipped 
as  they  talked.  The  "King's"  face  was  red,  partly 
with  the  sun  and  partly  with  the  anger  that  still 
burned  him.  Mr.  Crayon's  words  fell  soothingly  upon 
his  ear — Mr.  Crayon  had  a  quiet,  mellow  voice — and 
his  sense  of  injury  at  the  hands  of  Jimmy  Grayson 
deepened.  What  right  had  Jimmy  Grayson  or  Jim 
my  Grayson's  wife,  which  was  the  same  thing,  to 
interfere  in  his  private  affairs?  And  it  was  only  a 
step  from  one's  private  life  to  one's  public  life.  Wrong 
in  one,  wrong  in  the  other.  Mr.  Crayon,  watching 
ii  321 


THE   CANDIDATE 

him  keenly  though  covertly,  was  pleased  with  the 
varying  expressions  that  passed  over  the  unbearded 
portions  of  the  "King's"  face.  He  read  there  anger, 
jealousy,  and  revenge,  and  he  said  to  himself  that 
he  would  bend  this  man,  big  and  strong  as  he  was, 
to  his  will. 

Mr.  Crayon  now  grew  bolder.  He  said  that  the 
minority  within  the  party,  which,  for  the  present, 
he  represented,  was  resolved  to  come  to  an  issue 
with  Mr.  Grayson;  the  destinies  of  a  great  party, 
and  possibly  the  country,  could  not  be  put  in  the 
hands  of  a  man  who  had  neither  the  proper  dignity 
nor  the  proper  sense  of  responsibility.  Thus  far  he 
went,  and  then  the  wily  Mr.  Crayon  stopped  to  no 
tice  the  effect. 

It  seemed  to  him  to  be  favorable,  and  Mr.  Crayon 
was  an  acute  man.  The  "King"  drank  a  little  of 
his  liquor  and  nodded  his  head.  Yes,  he  had  been 
fooled  in  Jimmy  Grayson,  he  had  thought  that  he 
was  as  true  as  steel,  but  there  was  a  flaw  in  the  steel; 
Jimmy  Grayson  had  done  him  a  great  injury,  and 
he  was  not  a  man  who  turned  one  cheek  when  the 
other  was  smitten;  he  smote  back  with  all  his  might, 
and  his  own  hand  was  pretty  heavy. 

Mr.  Crayon  smiled — all  things  were  certainly  going 
well;  he  had  caught  Mr.  Plummer  at  the  right  mo 
ment,  and  there  was  no  doubt  of  the  impression  that 
he  was  making.  Then  he  went  a  little  further;  he 
suggested  that  a  certain  important  issue  not  hitherto 
discussed  in  the  campaign  was  going  to  be  brought 
up,  even  now  they  were  proposing  to  present  it  in 
the  West,  and  Mr.  Grayson  would  have  to  declare 
himself  either  for  or  against  it — there  was  no  middle 
ground.  Mr.  Crayon  again  stopped  and  observed 
the  "King"  with  the  same  covert  but  careful  glance. 

322 


THE   CANDIDATE 

The  face  of  Mr.  Plummer  obviously  bore  the  stamp 
of  approval;  moreover,  he  nodded,  and,  thus  en 
couraged,  Mr.  Crayon  went  further  and  further,  tell 
ing  why  the  issue  was  so  great,  and  why  it  must  be 
presented  to  the  public  without  delay. 

Mr.  Plummer  asked  him  to  name  the  issue,  and 
when  Mr.  Crayon  did  so,  without  reserve,  the  "  King's  " 
face  once  more  bore  the  stamp  of  approval,  and  he 
nodded  his  head  again. 

"If  Mr.  Gray  son  accepts  the  law  as  we  lay  it 
down,"  said  Mr.  Crayon,  with  satisfaction,  "he 
places  himself  in  our  hands  and  we  control  him. 
Our  policies  prevail,  and,  if  he  becomes  President  of 
the  United  States,  we  remain  the  power  that  rules 
him,  and  that,  therefore,  rules  the  country.  If  he 
resists  us,  well,  that  is  the  end  of  him!" 

Mr.  Crayon  had  lighted  a  cigar,  and  as  he  said 
"that  is  the  end  of  him  "  he  flicked  off  the  ash  with 
a  quick  gesture  that  had  in  it  the  touch  of  finality. 

Mr.  Plummer  said  nothing,  and  Mr.  Crayon  was 
content;  he  could  do  enough  talking  for  two. 

"Mr.  Goodnight  and  other  of  my  associates  are 
coming  West  very  soon,"  he  continued.  "The  vel 
vet  glove  will  be  taken  off,  and  it  is  high  time." 

Then  they  went  forth  into  the  streets  of  Boise" 
and  they  were  seen  walking  together  by  many  peo 
ple,  to  which  Mr.  Crayon  was  not  averse,  and  in  an 
hour  three  or  four  local  correspondents  were  sending 
eastward  vivid  despatches  stating  that  Mr.  Crayon, 
the  representative  of  the  conservative  and  dissatis 
fied  minority  in  the  party,  was  in  Boise  in  close  con 
ference  with  "King"  Plummer,  the  political  ruler  of 
the  mountains.  And  the  burden  of  all  these  de 
spatches  was  fast-coming  evil  for  Jimmy  Grayson. 

Nor  was  the  candidate  long  in  hearing  of  it.  The 
323 


THE    CANDIDATE 

very  next  day  a  Bois£  newspaper  containing  a  full 
first-page  account  of  it  reached  them,  and  was  read 
aloud  to  the  party  by  Mr.  Heathcote.  Mr.  Grayson 
made  no  comment  as  it  was  being  read,  but  Harley 
once  saw  his  face  darken  and  his  lips  close  tightly 
together;  this  was  the  only  sign  that  he  gave,  and  it 
quickly  passed. 

But  the  others  were  not  so  chary  of  words.  The 
train  was  full  of  indignant  comment,  and  the  ears  of 
"King"  Plummer  in  the  distance  must  have  burned. 

"I  could  not  have  believed  it  of  him,"  said  Mr. 
Heathcote.  "  It  is  untrue  to  the  man's  whole  nature, 
even  if  he  is  swayed  suddenly  by  some  powerful 
emotion." 

Hobart  glanced  at  Sylvia,  who  had  withdrawn  to 
the  far  end  of  the  car,  where  she  was  apparently 
gazing  at  the  mountains  that  fled  by,  although  she 
said  not  one  word  and  her  face  was  red.  Nor  did 
Harley  join  in  the  talk,  but,  taking  advantage  of  the 
slight  bustle  caused  by  Mr.  Grayson's  retirement  to 
the  drawing-room,  he  took  refuge  in  a  day  car  to 
which  their  own  coach  was  attached  for  the  time. 
That  evening,  while  the  others  were  at  dinner,  he 
saw  Sylvia  alone. 

"I  ought  to  tell  you,"  she  said,  "that  I  have  asked 
to  leave  the  train,  but  my  aunt  has  refused  to  con 
sent  to  it.  She  says  she  needs  me,  and  as  I  cannot 
go  now  to  my  old  home  in  Boise",  it  is  better  for  me 
to  stay  with  her.  I  have  heard  that  you  asked  to 
be  recalled  to  the  East,  and  I  honor  you  for  it." 

"Are  you  sorry  that  my  request  was  refused?" 
asked  Harley. 

She  did  not  falter,  although  the  red  in  her  cheeks 
flushed  deeper. 

"No,  I  am  not  sorry;  I  am  glad,"  she  replied. 
324 


THE    CANDIDATE 

"Why  should  I  tell  an  untruth  about  what  is  so  great 
a  matter  to  both  of  us?  But  it  cannot  change  any 
thing." 

Harley  felt  that  this  was,  indeed,  a  maid  well 
worth  winning,  and  his  hope  yet  to  find  a  way,  which 
had  been  weakened  somewhat  lately,  grew  high 
again.  That  night  wild  resolves  ran  through  his 
mind.  He  would  sacrifice  his  pride,  hitherto  an  un 
thinkable  thing — he  would  see  "  King"  Plummer  and 
tell  him  that  Sylvia  and  he  loved  each  other,  that 
neither  of  them  could  possibly  be  happy  unless  they 
were  wedded,  then  he  would  appeal  to  the  older 
man's  generosity;  he  would  tell  him  how  Sylvia 
loyally  meant  to  keep  her  word  and  pay  her  debt 
of  gratitude  with  herself,  then  he  would  ask  him  to 
release  her  from  the  promise.  But  he  gave  up  the 
idea  as  one  that  required  too  much;  he  could  never 
humiliate  himself  so  far,  and  even  then  it  would  be  a 
humiliation  without  result. 

If  Harley  had  undertaken  to  carry  out  such  a  wild 
idea,  he  would  have  found  it  difficult,  because  no  one 
in  the  party  then  knew  where  "  King"  Plummer  was; 
they  were  hearing  of  him  all  over  the  West,  and  the 
Denver,  Salt  Lake,  and  smaller  newspapers  were 
filled  with  accounts  of  his  doings,  all  colored  highly. 
His  bolt,  they  said,  was  now  an  accomplished  fact; 
he  showed  the  deepest  hostility  to  the  candidate,  and 
he  was  also  in  constant  correspondence  with  a  power 
ful  and  dissatisfied  wing  in  the  East. 

Mr.  Grayson  never  said  a  word,  he  never  spoke 
of  Mr.  Plummer  in  any  of  his  speeches,  and  Harley 
believed  there  was  only  sadness  in  his  mind,  not  an 
ger,  whenever  he  thought  of  the  "  King." 

But  there  could  be  no  doubt  of  the  effect  of  all 
these  events  upon  the  campaign ;  to  the  public  Jimmy 

325 


THE    CANDIDATE 

Grayson  seemed  as  one  lost  in  the  wilderness,  and 
only  in  the  mountains,  where  the  people  were  far 
from  the  great  centres  of  information,  did  they  yet 
cherish  a  hope  of  his  election.  Churchill  wrote  to 
the  Monitor  that  Jimmy  Grayson  himself  had  aban 
doned  hope. 

Ominous  rumblings  were  coming  from  the  East, 
too.  Goodnight,  Crayon,  and  their  friends  had  found 
a  pretext  upon  which  to  take  drastic  action,  and  they 
were  about  to  take  it. 


XX 

THE   GREAT    PHILIPSBURG    CONFERENCE 

IF  ever  you  go  to  Philipsburg,  which  is  in  Wyoming, 
not  far  from  the  Montana  line,  you  will  hear  the 
people  proclaim  the  greatness  of  the  town  in  which 
they  live.  You  expect  this  sort  of  thing  in  the  Far 
West,  and  you  are  prepared  for  it,  but  you  will  be 
surprised  at  the  nature  of  the  Philipsburg  boast.  Its 
proud  inhabitants  will  not  tell  you  that  it  is  bound 
to  be  the  largest  city  between  the  Missouri  and  the 
coast,  they  will  not  assert  that  since  the  horizon 
touches  the  earth  at  an  equal  distance  on  all  sides  of 
the  town,  it  is,  therefore,  the  natural  centre  of  the 
world;  but  they  will  tell  you  stories  of  the  Great 
Philipsburg  Conference,  and  some  of  them  will  not 
be  far  from  the  truth. 

Philipsburg  is  but  a  hamlet,  fed  by  an  irrigation 
ditch  that  leads  the  life-giving  waters  down  from  a 
distant  mountain,  and  it  has  neither  the  beauty  of 
nature  nor  that  given  by  the  hand  of  man,  but  the 
people  will  point  importantly  to  the  square  wooden 
hotel  of  only  two  stories,  and  tell  you  that  there  oc 
curred  the  great  crisis  in  the  most  famous  and  pict 
uresque  Presidential  campaign  ever  waged  in  the 
United  States;  they  will  even  lead  you  to  the  very 
room  in  which  the  big  talk  occurred,  and  say,  in 
lowered  voices,  that  the  furniture  is  exactly  the 
same,  and  arranged  just  as  it  was  on  that  momen- 

327 


THE    CANDIDATE 

tous  night  when  the  history  of  the  world  might  have 
been  changed.  In  this  room  the  people  of  Philips- 
burg  have  a  reverential  air,  and  there  is  cause  for  it. 

The  affair  did  not  begin  at  Philipsburg — it  merely 
had  its  climax  there — but  far  away  on  the  dusty 
plains  of  eastern  Washington,  where  the  wheat 
grows  so  tall,  and  it  bubbled  and  seethed  as  the 
candidate  and  his  party  travelled  eastward,  stop 
ping  and  speaking  many  times  by  the  way.  It  was 
all  about  the  tariff,  a  dry  subject  in  itself,  but,  as 
tall  oaks  from  little  acorns  grow,  so  a  dry  subject 
often  can  make  interesting  people  do  interesting 
things. 

At  the  convention  that  nominated  Mr.  Grayson 
for  the  Presidency  the  subject  of  the  tariff  had  been 
left  somewhat  vague  in  the  platform,  not  from  de 
liberate  purpose,  but  merely  through  the  drift  of 
events;  the  question  had  not  interested  the  people 
greatly  in  some  time;  other  things  connected  with 
both  the  foreign  and  internal  policy  of  the  govern 
ment,  particularly  the  continued  occupation  of  the 
Philippines  and  a  projected  new  banking  system, 
were  more  to  the  fore ;  but  as  the  campaign  proceeded 
certain  events  caused  the  tariff  also  to  be  brought 
into  issue  and  to  receive  a  large  share  of  public  at 
tention. 

Now,  a  clever  man — above  all,  one  as  clever  as 
Jimmy  Grayson — could  avoid  giving  a  decided  opin 
ion  upon  this  subject.  It  is  party  creed  for  a  can 
didate  to  stand  upon  his  platform,  and,  as  the  plat 
form  contained  no  tariff  plank,  he  was  not  obliged 
to  take  any  stand  upon  the  tariff.  Such  a  course 
would  seem  good  politics,  too,  but  Harley  knew  that 
Mr.  Grayson  favored  a  reduction  of  the  tariff  and  a 
liberal  measure  of  reciprocity  with  neighboring  states, 

3*8 


THE    CANDIDATE 

and  he  dreaded  the  time  when  the  candidate  should 
declare  himself  upon  the  subject;  he  did  not  see  how 
he  could  do  it  without  losing  many  votes,  because 
there  was  a  serious  difference  of  view  inside  his  own 
party.  And  Harley's  dread  grew  out  of  his  intense 
desire  to  see  Mr.  Grayson  elected.  His  hero  was  not 
perfect — no  man  was;  there  were  some  important 
truths  which  he  did  not  yet  know,  but  he  was  honest, 
able,  and  true,  and  he  came  nearer  to  being  the  ideal 
candidate  than  any  other  man  whom  he  had  ever 
seen.  Above  all,  he  represented  the  principles  which 
Harley ,  from  the  bottom  of  his  soul,  wished  to  triumph. 

The  fight  had  been  begun  against  great  odds, 
against  powerful  interests  consolidated  in  a  battle- 
line  that  at  first  seemed  impervious,  but  by  tre 
mendous  efforts  they  had  made  progress;  the  vast 
energy  and  the  winning  personality  of  Mr.  Grayson 
were  a  strong  weapon,  and  Harley  was  gradually 
sensible  that  the  people  were  rallying  around  him  in 
increasing  numbers,  and  by  people  he  did  not  merely 
mean  the  masses  of  the  lowest,  those  who  never  raise 
themselves;  Harley  was  never  such  a  demagogue  as 
to  think  that  a  man  was  bad  because  he  had  achieved 
something  in  the  world  and  had  prospered;  he  had 
too  honest  and  clear  a  mind  to  put  a  premium  upon 
incapacity  and  idleness. 

Lately  he  had  begun  to  have  hope — a  feeling  that 
Mr.  Grayson  might  be  elected  despite  the  "King" 
Plummer  defection  was  growing  upon  him,  if  they 
could  only  abide  by  the  issues  already  formed.  But 
at  the  best  it  would  be  a  fight  to  the  finish,  with 
the  chances  in  favor  of  the  other  man.  Yet  his 
heart  was  infused  with  hope  until  this  hateful  tariff 
question  began  to  raise  its  head.  Harley  knew  that 
a  declaration  upon  it  would  split  the  party,  or  at 


THE   CANDIDATE 

least  would  cut  from  it  a  fragment  big  enough  to 
cause  defeat.  He  devoutly  hoped  that  they  would 
steer  clear  of  this  dangerous  rock,  but  he  was  not  so 
sure  of  Jimmy  Grayson,  who,  after  all,  was  his  own 
pilot.  And  his  amiability  did  not  alter  the  fact  that 
he  had  a  strong  hand. 

Harley  at  first  heard  the  mutterings  of  the  thunder 
only  from  afar;  it  was  being  debated  in  the  East 
among  the  great  manufacturing  cities,  but  as  yet  the 
West  was  untouched  by  the  storm.  Mr.  Heathcote, 
the  Eastern  committeeman,  called  his  attention  to  it 
after  they  had  passed  the  mountain-range  that  divides 
western  Washington  from  eastern  Washington. 

Harley  was  looking  out  of  the  window  at  the  rip- 
pling'brown  plain,  which  he  was  told  was  one  of  the 
best  wheat  countries  in  the  world.  "At  first,"  said 
his  informant,  a  pioneer,  "we  thought  it  was  a 
desert,  and  we  thought  so,  too,  for  a  long  time  after 
wards;  it  looked  like  loose  sand,  and  the  wind  act 
ually  blew  the  soil  about  as  if  it  were  dust.  Now, 
and  without  irrigation,  it  produces  its  thirty  bushels 
of  wheat  per  acre  season  after  season." 

Harley  was  thinking  of  this  brilliant  transforma 
tion,  when  the  committeeman,  who  was  sitting  just 
behind  him,  suddenly  changed  the  channel  of  his 
thoughts. 

"  I  have  here  a  Walla  Walla  paper  that  will  interest 
you,  Mr.  Harley,"  he  said.  "In  fact,  it  is  likely  to 
interest  us  all.  The  despatch  is  somewhat  meagre, 
but  it  will  suffice." 

He  put  his  finger  on  the  top  head-line  of  the  first 
page,  and  Harley  read :  "  The  Tariff  an  Issue. "  He  took 
the  paper  and  read  the  article  carefully.  The  debate 
had  occurred  before  an  immense  audience  in  Madison 
Square  Garden,  in  New  York  City,  and  according  to 

330 


the  despatch  it  had  excited  the  greatest  interest,  a 
statement  that  Harley  could  easily  believe. 

"I  was  hoping  that  we  would  be  spared  this,"  he 
said,  as  he  laid  the  paper  down  and  his  face  became 
grave.  "Why  do  they  bring  it  up?  It's  not  in 
the  platform  and  it  should  not  be  made  an  issue, 
at  least  not  now." 

"But  it  is  an  issue,  after  all,"  replied  Mr.  Heath- 
cote,  "and  I  am  surprised  that  the  enemy  did  not 
raise  the  question  sooner.  They  must  have  had 
some  very  bad  management.  They  are  united  on 
this  question,  and  we  are  not.  If  we  are  forced  to 
come  into  line  of  battle  on  it,  then  we  are  divided 
and  they  are  not;  don't  you  see  their  advantage?" 

"Yes,  it  is  manifest,"  replied  Harley,  gloomily. 
Then,  after  a  little  thought,  he  began  to  brighten. 

"It  is  not  necessary  for  Jimmy  Grayson  to  declare 
himself." 

"  He  will,  if  he  is  asked  to  do  so." 

"But  we  are  away  out  here  in  the  Western  moun 
tains,  out  of  immediate  touch  with  the  great  centres 
of  population.  These  thinly  settled  states  are  doubt 
ful,  those  more  populous  are  not.  Here  they  are  not 
interested  in  the  tariff  either  one  way  or  the  other; 
the  subject  has  scarcely  been  mentioned  on  our  West 
ern  tour;  why  can  we  not  still  keep  it  in  the  dark?" 

"  But,  I  tell  you,  if  the  issue  is  presented  to  Jimmy 
Grayson,  he  is  sure  to  speak  his  mind  about  it." 

"It  is  for  us  to  see  that  it  is  not  presented.  I 
don't  think  it  will  be  done  by  any  of  the  local  popula 
tion,  and  we  must  exercise  a  censorship  over  the  press. 
We  must  try  to  keep  from  him  all  newspapers  con 
taining  accounts  of  the  tariff  debates;  we  must  not 
let  him  know  that  the  issue  is  before  the  public  off 
there  in  the  East.  There  is  only  a  month  more  of 


THE   CANDIDATE 

the  campaign,  and,  while  it  is  not  likely  that  we  can 
suppress  the  matter  entirely,  we  may  keep  it  down 
until  it  is  too  late  to  do  much  harm." 

"The  plan  isn't  a  bad  one,"  said  Mr.  Heathcote; 
"but  we've  got  to  take  everybody  into  the  plot. 
Mr.  Grayson  alone  is  to  be  left  in  ignorance." 

"They  are  all  his  devoted  personal  friends  except 
Churchill,  of  the  Monitor,  and  I  can  bully  him  into 
silence." 

Harley's  face  flushed  slightly  as  he  made  this  as 
sertion  with  emphasis.  Mr.  Heathcote,  who  was 
learning  much  these  days,  smiled  as  he  observed  him. 

"Mr.  Harley,"  he  said,  "no  one  could  doubt  the 
reality  of  your  wishes  for  Mr.  Grayson's  success." 

All  went  willingly  into  the  little  conspiracy  against 
the  extension  of  Mr.  Grayson's  knowledge,  even 
Churchill,  under  the  whip  and  spur  of  Harley's  will, 
promising  a  sullen  silence.  The  case  itself  presented 
aspects  that  stirred  these  men,  calling  as  it  did 
for  an  alertness  of  mind  and  delicacy  of  handling  that 
appealed  to  their  sense  of  responsibility;  hence  it 
aroused  their  interest,  which  in  turn  begat  a  desire  to 
succeed. 

But  Harley,  as  well  as  Mr.  Heathcote  and  the 
others,  knew  very  well  that  it  was  not  the  enemy 
alone  who  had  raised  this  new  and,  as  they  all  feared, 
fatal  issue;  even  if  they  had  not  read  it  in  the  de 
spatches,  the  hand  of  the  minority  within  their  own 
party  was  too  clearly  visible.  In  the  newspapers 
that  reached  them  constant  allusions  were  made  to 
Mr.  Goodnight,  Mr.  Crayon,  and  their  associates, 
who  were  deeply  interested  in  the  maintenance  of 
the  tariff,  and  who,  it  was  said,  would  force  Mr. 
Grayson  to  pledge  himself  to  its  support;  this,  it 
was  predicted,  they  could  easily  do,  as  it  was  obvious 

332 


THE    CANDIDATE 

that  he  could  not  win  without  the  help  of  this  mi 
nority. 

Harley  knew  that  the  Goodnight  faction  now  in 
tended  to  force  the  issue — that  is,  either  to  subject 
Mr.  Gray  son  or  to  ruin  him,  and  he  saw  that  the 
affair  would  require  the  most  delicate  handling;  only 
that  and  the  best  of  fortune  could  postpone  the  is 
sue  long  enough. 

They  took  Sylvia  into  their  confidence,  both  by 
necessity  and  choice,  but  they  were  rather  surprised 
to  find  that  in  this  case  she  did  not  believe  in  diplo 
macy. 

"If  I  were  Uncle  James,"  she  said,  with  indignant 
anger,  "  I  would  tell  them  to  go  to — well,  well,  where 
a  man  would  tell  them  to  go  to,  and  I  would  not  be 
polite  about  it,  either." 

Harley  laughed  at  her  heat,  although  he  liked  it, 
too. 

"And  then  you'd  lose  the  election,"  he  said. 

"I'd  lose  it,  if  I  must,  but  at  least  I'd  save  my  in 
dependence  and  self-respect  in  doing  so.  Is  Uncle 
James  the  nominee,  or  is  he  not  ?  If  he  is  the  nominee, 
shouldn't  he  say  what  he  ought  to  do?" 

"Perhaps,  but  it  isn't  politics;  even  if  he  were 
elected  he  wouldn't  be  absolutely  free;  no  ruler  ever 
was,  whether  president  or  king." 

But  she  clung  to  her  opinion. 

It  was  no  easy  matter  to  hide  the  tariff  issue  from 
Jimmy  Gray  son,  who  was  exceedingly  watchful  of 
all  things  about  him,  despite  his  great  labors  in  the 
campaign;  yet  his  associates  were  aided  to  some  ex 
tent  by  the  rather  meagre  character  of  the  news 
papers  which  now  reached  them,  newspapers  pub 
lished  in  small  towns,  and  therefore  unable  to  pay 
for  long  despatches  from  the  East.  But  even  these 

333 


THE    CANDIDATE 

were  censored  with  the  most  jealous  care;  if  they 
contained  anything  about  the  hot  tariff  discussion 
off  there  in  the  Atlantic  States,  they  disappeared 
before  they  could  reach  the  candidate.  All  the  news 
was  inspected  with  the  most  rigid  care,  just  as  if 
the  real  feeling  of  his  subjects  was  being  hidden  from 
a  kaiser  or  a  czar. 

But  Harley  and  his  friends  soon  found  that  they 
had  laid  upon  themselves  a  great  and  onerous  task, 
and  to  Harley,  at  least,  it  was  all  the  heavier  be 
cause  he  found,  at  last,  that  his  heart  was  not  wholly 
in  it.  Despite  all  their  caution,  references  to  the 
tariff  debate  would  dribble  in;  Jimmy  Grayson  be 
gan  to  grow  suspicious ;  he  would  ask  about  the  work 
of  the  campaign  orators  in  the  East,  and  he  seemed 
surprised  that  his  friends,  above  all  the  correspond 
ents,  should  have  so  little  news  on  the  subject. 

"I  should  like  to  see  some  of  the  New  York  or 
Chicago  newspapers,  even  if  they  are  ten  days  old," 
he  said.  "It  seems  odd  that  we  have  not  had  any 
for  a  week  now." 

"The  metropolitan  press  scarcely  reaches  these  iso 
lated  regions,"  said  Harley. 

"We  have  been  in  isolated  regions  before,  and  we 
had  the  New  York  and  Chicago  newspapers  every 
day." 

Harley  did  not  answer,  and  presently  contrived 
some  excuse  for  leaving  Jimmy  Grayson,  being  much 
troubled  in  mind,  not  alone  because  the  candidate 
was  growing  suspicious,  but  because  of  a  rising  be 
lief  that  he  ought  to  know,  that  the  truth  should  not 
be  hidden  from  him.  If  the  tariff  was  to  be  an  is 
sue,  then  the  candidate  should  declare  himself,  cost 
what  it  might.  Yet  Harley,  for  the  present,  followed 
the  course  that  he  had  set.  But  he  shivered  a  little 

334 


THE    CANDIDATE 

when  he  looked  at  the  New  York  and  Chicago  news 
papers  that  were  smuggled  about  the  train ;  the  tariff 
question  was  swelling  in  importance,  and  the  head 
lines  over  the  debates  were  growing  bigger. 

A  stray  copy  of  the  Monitor  reached  them,  and  it 
was  big  with  prophecy:  "At  last  the  gauntlet  has 
been  thrown  down  by  the  wise,  the  conservative,  and 
the  high  moral  element  of  the  party."  It  said, 
editorially:  "  Our  impulsive  young  man  will  learn  that 
there  are  older  and  soberer  heads,  and  he  must  bow 
his  own  to  them.  The  Monitor  has  long  foreseen  this 
necessary  crisis,  although  the  blind  multitude  would 
not  believe  us,  and  we  are  both  glad  and  proud 
to  say  that  we  have  had  our  modest  little  share  in 
forcing  it." 

The  candidate  sent  for  Harley  the  next  noon,  and 
when  the  correspondent  entered  the  state-room  set 
aside  for  his  use,  he  saw  that  Mr.  Grayson's  face 
was  grave.  He  held  a  yellow  sheet  of  paper,  evi 
dently  a  telegraph  form,  in  his  right  hand,  and 
was  tapping  it  lightly  with  the  forefinger  of  his  left 
hand. 

"Harley,"  he  said,  smiling  the  frank  smile  that 
made  him  so  many  friends;  "I've  got  in  the  habit  of 
looking  upon  you  as  a  friend  and  sort  of  confidential 
adviser." 

"It  makes  me  happy  to  hear  you  say  so,"  said 
Harley,  who  was  gratified. 

Jimmy  Grayson  looked  at  the  telegram,  and  his 
face  became  grave.  Then  he  handed  it  to  Harley, 
saying,  "I  have  here  something  that  I  do  not  alto 
gether  understand.  Read  it." 

It  was  from  New  York,  and  it  said: 

"Your  silence  on  tariff  issue  admirable.  Keep  it 
up.  Don't  let  enemy  force  you  into  action." 

335 


THE    CANDIDATE 

It  was  signed  with  the  name  of  a  New  York  poli 
tician  well-known  as  a  trimmer. 

Mr.  Grayson  looked  Harley  squarely  in  the  eye, 
and  the  correspondent's  face  fell. 

"Now  what  does  it  mean?" 

Harley  was  silent. 

"What  does  it  mean?"  continued  Mr.  Grayson,  in 
a  perplexed  tone.  "The  tariff  has  not  been  a  real 
issue  in  this  campaign.  Now  why  does  he  con 
gratulate  me  on  my  silence?" 

Harley  did  not  speak  and  Jimmy  Grayson's  face 
grew  grave. 

"I  am  sorry  that  we  have  not  been  able  to  keep 
fully  informed  about  the  campaign  in  the  East,"  he 
said.  "I  am  bound  to  assume  from  this  that  the 
tariff  issue  has  been  raised  there,  and  if  a  fight  is  to 
be  made  upon  it  I,  as  the  head  of  the  ticket,  must  do 
my  share." 

Then  Harley  confessed,  and  in  doing  so  relieved 
his  conscience,  in  which  he  was  wise,  both  from  the 
moral  and  prudential  points  of  view,  because  the 
truth  about  the  situation  could  not  be  hidden  any 
longer  from  the  acute  mind  of  Jimmy  Grayson.  He 
concealed  nothing,  he  showed  that  he  was  the  leader 
of  the  conspiracy,  and  he  described  their  devious  at 
tempts,  with  their  relative  success  and  failure. 

"Harley,"  said  the  candidate,  when  the  tale  was 
told,  "I  am  more  than  ever  convinced  that  you  are 
my  sincere  friend.  You  would  not  have  done  this 
if  you  were  not.  It  was  a  mistake,  but  you  certainly 
meant  well." 

"I  did  it  because  I  thought  I  could  help." 

"I  know  it,  but  I  repeat  that  it  was  a  mistake. 
Such  an  important  matter  could  not  be  kept  per 
manently  in  the  background.  It  was  bound  to  come 

336 


THE    CANDIDATE 

forward,  and  with  all  the  greater  force  because  it 
had  been  restrained  so  long.  I  don't  think  any 
harm  has  been  done,  but  I'll  have  to  take  the  man 
agement  of  it  into  my  own  hands  now." 

He  smiled  again  with  such  frankness  and  sincerity 
that  Harley's  feelings  were  not  hurt  by  his  words, 
but  he  quickly  realized  the  truth  of  his  assertion 
about  the  increased  force  of  the  disclosure  because 
it  had  been  kept  back  so  long.  Now  the  avalanche 
struck  them.  When  Harley  left  the  state-room, 
Churchill  came  to  him. 

"Harley,"  he  said,  "the  Monitor  has  telegraphed 
me  to  get  a  thousand  words  from  Mr.  Gray  son,  if  I 
can,  on  the  tariff  issue.  My  first  duty  is  to  my  paper, 
and  I  am  bound  to  obey  these  instructions." 

"It's  all  right,  he  knows  now;  go  right  in  to  see 
him;  but  I  am  sure  he  won't  talk  to  you  about  it;  he 
isn't  ready  yet." 

Three  or  four  more  correspondents  received  in 
structions  of  the  same  character,  and  in  addition 
there  was  a  rain  of  telegrams  for  Jimmy  Grayson 
himself  and  for  his  party  associates.  It  seemed  that 
the  issue  had  suddenly  culminated  in  the  East,  and 
the  candidate  would  be  bound  to  speak.  But  the 
telegrams  to  Mr.  Grayson  were  of  a  varying  nature ; 
many  of  them  were  opposed  to  revision,  and  they 
were  usually  signed  by  men  of  wealth  and  power, 
those  who  furnished  the  sinews  of  war,  as  necessary 
in  a  political  campaign — and  entirely  within  the  con 
fines  of  honesty,  too — as  the  cannon  and  the  rifles 
are  on  the  field  of  battle.  Others  took  another  view, 
and  it  was  apparent  to  everybody  that  great  trouble 
in  the  party  was  at  hand. 

Gloom  settled  over  the  train.  They  were  ready  at 
all  times  to  fight  the  enemy,  but  how  to  handle  de- 
"  337 


THE    CANDIDATE 

fection  among  their  own  men  was  a  puzzling  thing, 
and  there  was  cause  for  despair.  Sylvia,  however, 
was  glad  that  Mr.  Grayson  knew.  She  said  that  he 
would  do  right,  whatever  it  might  be. 

"I've  been  in  to  see  Mr.  Grayson,"  said  Mr.  Heath- 
cote  to  Harley,  "and  I  suggested  that  he  might  con 
tinue  his  silence  on  the  great  question.  You  see,  he 
is  not  bound  to  speak.  If  he  doesn't  want  to,  no 
body  can  make  him." 

"No,  nobody  can  make  him  speak,  nor  can  any 
body  keep  him  from  it  if  he  wishes  to  do  so." 

While  they  talked  the  train  was  slowing  down  for 
a  stop  at  a  tiny  village  of  a  dozen  houses,  and  when 
there  a  long  telegram  was  brought  to  Mr.  Heath- 
cote.  He  read  it  with  absorbed  attention,  and  when 
he  looked  up  at  Harley  his  face  showed  relief. 

"This  is  good!  This  is  good!"  he  said.  "The  tele 
gram  is  dated  Chicago,  and  it  tells  me  that  a  big 
committee  of  New  York,  Philadelphia,  and  Boston 
men  is  coming  on  to  see  Mr.  Grayson.  They  are 
good  members  of  our  own  party,  all  in  favor  of  let 
ting  the  tariff  alone,  and  I  think  they  can  bring  such 
pressure  to  bear  that  they  will  save  us." 

Harley  himself  felt  relief.  The  committee  might 
achieve  something,  and,  at  any  rate,  the  responsibil 
ity  would  rest  upon  more  heads. 

"When  can  we  expect  these  men?"  he  asked. 

" In  two  days;  they  are  already  well  on  their  way." 

"Being  an  Eastern  man  yourself,  it  will  fall  to  your 
lot  to  be  the  intermediary." 

"I  suppose  so,"  said  Mr.  Heathcote,  and  he  sighed 
a  little. 

True  to  Mr.  Heathcote's  prediction,  the  committee 
overtook  them  two  days  later  at  a  way-station,  and 
Harley  saw  at  once  that  strenuous  days  were  ahead, 

338 


THE    CANDIDATE 

because  the  committee  had  a  full  sense  of  its  own 
largeness  and  importance,  a  fact  evident  even  to 
those  less  acute  than  Harley;  and  it  was  led  by  Mr. 
Goodnight  and  Mr.  Crayon  themselves.  It  was  com 
posed  of  eight  men,  all  middle-aged  or  more,  and 
every  one  was  set  in  a  way  of  thinking  peculiar  to 
the  business  in  which  he  had  spent  many  years  and 
in  which  he  had  made  much  money. 

All  glittered  with  the  gloss  of  prosperity.  When 
they  left  the  train  they  put  on  polished  silk -hats, 
brought  forth  by  ready  servants,  and  when  they 
walked  through  the  streets  of  the  little  villages  they 
were  resplendent  in  long,  black  frock-coats  and  light 
trousers.  They  were  not,  as  Mr.  Heathcote  had 
been  in  his  primordial  condition,  young  and  merely 
mistaken,  but  they  had  passed  the  time  of  life  when 
there  was  anything  to  be  learned ;  in  fact,  they  were 
quite  well  aware  that  they  knew  everything,  par 
ticularly  those  subjects  pertaining  to  the  growth  and 
prosperity  of  the  country. 

The  leader  of  the  committee  was  Mr.  Clinton  Good 
night,  who,  as  has  been  told,  was  a  manufacturer  of 
immense  wealth  and  also  a  member  of  the  Lower 
House  of  Congress,  thus  combining  in  himself  the 
loftiest  attributes  of  law-making  and  money-making. 
He  was  helped,  too,  by  a  manner  of  great  solemnity 
and  a  slow,  deep  voice  that  placed  emphasis  upon 
every  alternate  word,  thus  adding  impressiveness  to 
everything  he  said.  He  was  assiduously  seconded 
by  Mr.  Henry  Crayon,  thin-faced  and  alert  as  ever, 
speaking  in  short,  snappy  sentences,  from  which  all 
useless  adjectives  were  elided.  Mr.  Crayon  was  self- 
made,  and  was  willing  that  it  should  be  known.  He, 
too,  had  fathomed  the  depths  of  knowledge. 

They  were  introduced  to  Mr.  Grayson  by  Mr 
339 


THE    CANDIDATE 

Heathcote,  who,  with  useful  experience  of  his  own 
not  far  behind  him,  was  able  to  show  much  tact. 

"I  am  glad  to  meet  you  again,  Mr.  Grayson,"  said 
Mr.  Goodnight,  in  a  large,  rotund  manner.  "I  am 
sorry  I  did  not  see  more  of  you  when  we  were  to 
gether  in  the  House.  But  you  were  very  young  then, 
you  know.  Who'd  have  thought  that  you  would  be 
so  conspicuous  now  ?  I  dare  say  you  did  not  expect 
to  see  us  here.  We  business -men  are  usually  so 
much  engrossed  with  affairs  that  we  do  not  have 
time  for  politics,  but  there  come  occasions  when  our 
help,  especially  our  advice,  is  needed,  and  this  is  one 
of  them." 

Harley  saw  a  faint  smile  pass  over  the  face  of  the 
candidate,  but  Jimmy  Grayson  was  a  man  of  infinite 
tact,  which,  instead  of  being  allied  to  greatness,  is 
a  part  of  greatness  itself,  and  he  took  no  notice  of 
anything  in  Mr.  Goodnight's  words  or  manner.  On 
the  contrary,  he  welcomed  him  and  his  associate 
with  real  warmth;  he  was  glad  to  see  the  great  busi 
ness  interests  of  the  country  represented  in  person 
in  the  campaign;  it  ought  always  to  be  so;  if  the 
solid  men  took  more  part  in  the  elections  it  would 
be  better  for  all. 

Every  member  of  the  committee  smiled  a  satisfied 
smile  and  admitted  that  Mr.  Grayson's  remarks  were 
true.  This  was  progress,  as  Harley  could  see.  The 
committee  may  have  come  with  advice  and  repro 
bation  in  its  soul,  but  clearly  it  was  placated,  for  the 
present. 

"We  give  proof  of  devotion  to  cause,"  said  Mr. 
Crayon,  in  his  sharp,  snappy  way.  "Have  come  all 
the  way  from  great  financial  centres  to  these  lonely 
plains.  Heavy  sacrifice  of  time.  Hope  it  will  be 
duly  appreciated." 

340 


THE    CANDIDATE 

"You  can  rest  easy  on  that  point,"  said  Jimmy 
Grayson,  as  the  faint  smile  again  passed  over  his 
face.  "Your  intentions  will  be  taken  at  their  full 
value." 

"We  wish  to  have  a  long  and  thorough  talk  with 
you  a  little  later  on,"  said  Mr.  Goodnight.  "The  sub 
ject  is  one  of  the  greatest  importance,  and  the  age 
and  experience  of  the  members  of  this  committee  fit 
us  to  deal  with  it." 

"  Undoubtedly,"  said  Jimmy  Grayson,  and  Harley 
thought  that  his  voice  was  a  little  dryer  than  usual. 

Fortunately  the  members  of  the  committee  had 
their  own  special  car,  equipped  with  many  luxuries, 
and  it  was  attached  to  Jimmy  Grayson's  train. 
Hence  there  was  no  crowding  and  no  displacing  of 
the  old  travellers,  but  it  was  clear  that  there  were 
now  two  parties  following  the  candidate,  since  the 
old  and  the  new  did  not  coalesce.  The  members  of 
the  committee  showed  at  once  that  they  knew  them 
selves  to  be  the  mainstay  of  the  country,  while  the 
others  were  merely  frivolous  and  unstable  politicians. 

Sylvia,  of  course,  was  eager  to  know  what  they  had 
said  and  how  they  bore  themselves,  and  Harley  was 
anxious  to  gratify  her. 

"They  said  they  were  very  great  men,  and  they 
bore  themselves  accordingly." 

"Uncle  James  is  a  greater  man  than  all  of  them 
put  together." 

"  I  foresee  trouble,"  said  Hobart,  joyfully,  to  Har 
ley  a  little  later.  "I  can  feel  it  in  the  air  around 
me,  I  breathe  it,  I  can  even  see  it." 

"Hobart,"  said  Harley,  pityingly,  "you  only  obey 
your  instincts." 

"  Wherein  I  am  a  wise  man,"  replied  Hobart,  with 
satisfaction.  "I  am  out  here  to  get  news,  a.nd  the 

34* 


THE    CANDIDATE 

livelier  the  news  the  better.  Now  I  think  that  these 
gentlemen  will  soon  furnish  us  something  worth  writ 
ing  about." 

"I  am  afraid  so,"  said  Harley,  despondently. 

The  committee  was  in  no  haste  to  speak.  Its  mem 
bers  dined  luxuriously  in  their  private  car,  and  in 
vited  to  join  them  those  whom  they  thought  worthy 
of  the  honor  —  only  a  very  few  besides  the  ladies. 
Among  these  was  Harley;  but  it  was  Jimmy  Gray- 
son  who  took  him. 

The  conversation  was  exclusively  commercial  and 
financial.  Mr.  Goodnight,  Mr.  Crayon,  and  their 
associates  were  well  aware  that  the  whole  science 
of  government  pertained  to  the  development  of 
trade,  and  it  was  the  business  of  a  people,  as  well 
as  of  a  man,  to  stick  to  the  main  point.  It  was  for 
this  reason,  too,  that  Mr.  Crayon  incidentally  let  it 
be  understood  that  he  did  not  value  a  college  edu 
cation.  He  had  several  university  graduates  work 
ing  for  him  on  small  salaries,  while  he  had  never 
been  inside  the  walls  of  a  university,  and  that  was 
the  beginning  and  end  of  the  matter;  there  could  be 
no  further  discussion. 

"I  understand  you  are  connected  with  the  press," 
he  said  to  Harley,  who  sat  in  the  next  chair.  "I 
should  think  there  was  not  much  in  that;  but  still, 
with  careful,  diligent  man,  it  might  serve  as  opening 
into  financial  circles.  You  must  come  in  contact 
with  men  of  importance.  I  know  a  man,  originally  a 
writer  for  press,  who  has  risen  to  be  a  bank  cashier, 
Worthy  fellow." 

"I  am  sure  that  he  must  be,"  said  Harley,  and 
Mr.  Crayon's  opinion  of  him  rose. 

The  atmosphere  of  which  Hobart  spoke  with  such 
emphasis  did  not  permeate  the  special  car.  There 

342 


THE    CANDIDATE 

was  no  sign  of  trouble  around  the  bountiful  dining- 
table.  The  committee  had^its  own  way  and  did  all 
the  talking,  leaving  Mr.  Grayson,  Mr.  Heathcote,  and 
the  others  in  silence.  Hence  there  was  no  chance 
of  a  disagreement,  and,  as  Harley  judged,  Mr.  Good 
night  and  Mr.  Crayon  were  assured  that  this  pleas 
ant  state  of  affairs  would  continue. 

Mr.  Crayon,  who  was  pleased  with  his  neighbor, 
again  gave  Mr.  Harley  enlightenment.  He  asked  him 
about  the  country  through  which  they  were  passing, 
and  was  kind  enough  to  consider  his  information  of 
some  weight.  But  he  permitted  Harley  to  furnish 
only  the  premises;  it  was  reserved  for  himself  to 
draw  the  conclusions;  he  predicted  with  absolute 
certainty  the  future  of  this  region  and  the  amount 
of  revenue  it  would  yield  through  its  threefold  in 
terests — agricultural,  pastoral,  and  mineral.  He  add 
ed  that  only  the  trained  mind  could  make  these  ac 
curate  estimates. 

"Well,  what  happened?"  asked  Hobart,  when  Har 
ley  returned  to  his  own  car. 

'"Nothing." 

"Nothing?  Maybe  so,  but  it  won't  remain  noth 
ing  long.  You  just  wait  and  see." 

Sylvia,  to  whom  these  men  were,  of  course,  polite, 
summed  them  up  very  accurately  in  a  remark  that 
she  made  to  Harley. 

"It  is  impossible  to  teach  them  anything,"  she 
said,  "because  they  know  everything  already." 

An  hour  later  the  candidate  spoke  at  a  small  station 
to  a  large  audience  composed  of  people  typical  of 
the  region — miners,  farmers,  and  cowboys,  variously 
attired,  but  all  quiet  and  peaceful.  There  was  not 
a  sign  of  disorder,  there  was  nothing  even  remotely 
resembling  the  toughs  of  the  great  Eastern  cities, 

343 


THE    CANDIDATE 

This  seemed  to  be  a  surprise  to  the  members  of  the 
committee,  who  sat  in  a  formidable  semicircle  on 
the  stage  behind  the  candidate.  But  as  the  sur 
prise  wore  away  a  touch  of  disdain  appeared  in  their 
manner;  they  seemed  to  doubt  whether  the  region 
and  its  people  were  of  any  importance. 

To  Harley  the  speech  of  the  morning  was  of  par 
ticular  interest,  and  he  watched  Jimmy  Grayson 
with  the  closest  attention.  He  wanted  to  see  wheth 
er  he  would  venture  upon  the  treacherous  ocean  of 
the  tariff,  and  he  had  been  unable  to  draw  from  his 
manner  any  idea  of  his  intention.  But  Jimmy  Gray- 
son  did  not  launch  his  bark  upon  those  stormy  waters. 
He  handled  many  issues,  and  never  did  he  allow  any 
one  in  the  audience  to  doubt  his  meaning;  it  was  a 
plain  yea  or  nay,  and  he  drew  applause  from  the 
audience  or  a  disapproving  silence,  according  to  its 
feelings. 

But  the  committee  was  satisfied,  the  faces  of  the 
members  shone  with  pleasure,  and  Harley,  reading 
their  minds,  saw  how  they  told  themselves  of  the 
quick  effect  their  presence  had  upon  Jimmy  Grayson. 
It  was  well  for  men  of  weight  to  surround  a  Presi 
dential  candidate;  despite  himself,  with  strong,  grave 
faces  beside  him  he  would  put  a  prudent  restraint 
upon  his  words.  The  long  trip  from  the  East  and 
the  temporary  sacrifice  of  important  interests  was 
proving  to  be  worth  the  price.  When  the  speech 
was  over,  they  congratulated  him  upon  his  caution 
and  wisdom. 

But  that  afternoon  they  were  caught  under  a 
deluge  of  Eastern  newspapers,  and  in  them  all  the 
tariff  discussion  loomed  formidably.  There  was  ev 
ery  indication,  too,  that  this  big  storm  -  cloud  was 
moving  westward;  already  it  was  hovering  over  the 

344 


THE    CANDIDATE 

Missouri  River  Valley,  because  the  newspapers  of 
Kansas  City  and  Omaha,  like  those  of  Chicago  and 
New  York,  fairly  darkened  with  it. 

And  the  telegrams,  too,  continued  to  fall  on  Jim 
my  Grayson  thick  and  fast.  They  came  in  yellow 
showers;  all  the  correspondents  received  orders  to 
get  long  interviews  with  him  upon  the  subject,  if 
possible,  and  the  leaders  in  every  part  of  the  country 
were  telegraphing  to  do  this  and  to  do  that,  or  not 
to  do  either.  It  was  evident  that  a  great  population 
wanted  to  know  just  how  Jimmy  Grayson  stood  on 
the  tariff. 

The  members  of  the  committee  took  alarm ;  Harley 
saw  them  bustling  in  uneasily  to  Jimmy  Grayson, 
and  whispering  to  him  much  and  often. 

"It's  begun!  It's  begun!  The  war  is  on!"  said 
Hobart,  gleefully.  "I  hear  the  dropping  bullets  of 
the  skirmishers!" 

"Hobart,  you'd  exult  over  an  earthquake!"  ex 
claimed  Harley,  wrathfully. 

But  he  knew  Hobart's  words  to  be  true,  and  pres 
ently  he  drifted  back  to  Jimmy  Grayson. 

"Mr.  Harley  is  my  intimate  personal  friend,"  said 
the  candidate  to  some  of  the  members  of  the  com 
mittee  who  looked  askance  at  the  correspondent; 
"and  what  you  say  before  me  you  can  say  before 
him.  He  knows  what  to  print  and  what  not  to 
print." 

"It  is  this,"  said  Mr.  Goodnight,  and  Mr.  Crayon 
nodded  violently  in  affirmation;  "all  the  news  shows 
that  this  tariff  agitation  is  growing  fast.  But  it  is 
only  a  trick  of  the  enemy  to  force  an  expression  from 
us.  They  are  united  in  favor  of  the  tariff  and  we  are 
not.  There  is  a  division  within  our  ranks.  Many 
of  us,  and  I  may  say  it  is  the  more  solid  and  con- 

345 


THE   CANDIDATE 

servative  wing  of  the  party,  the  men  who  really  un 
derstand  the  world,  know  that  it  is  not  wise  to  med 
dle  with  the  question.  Leave  well  enough  alone. 
We  are  interested  in  this  ourselves,  and,  as  you  know, 
we  furnish  the  sinews  of  war." 

He  stopped  and  coughed  significantly,  and  Mr. 
Crayon  also  coughed  significantly.  The  remaining 
members  of  the  committee  did  likewise.  Jimmy 
Gray  son  looked  thoughtful. 

"Gentlemen,"  he  said,  "I  confess  to  you  that  my 
mind  has  been  upon  this  subject  for  several  days  past." 

"But  you  will  listen  to  advice,"  said  Mr.  Good 
night,  hastily. 

"Certainly!  Certainly!"  said  Jimmy  Grayson. 
"But  you  see  the  time  is  coming  when  I  must  de 
cide  upon  some  course  in  regard  to  it.  I  appreciate 
the  self-sacrifice  of  you  gentlemen  in  leaving  your 
business  interests  to  come  so  far,  and  I  shall  be 
glad  if  we  can  co-operate.  We  reach  Philipsburg 
to-night;  I  make  a  speech  there,  but  it  will  be  over 
early.  Suppose  we  have  our  talk  immediately  after 
wards." 

The  committee  at  once  accepted  the  offer  and  ex 
pressed  satisfaction.  Mr.  Grayson  showed  every  sign 
of  tractability,  and  they  began  to  feel  again  that  their 
valuable  time  had  not  been  expended  in  vain. 

Harley  told  Sylvia  that  the  affair  was  now  bound 
to  come  to  a  head  very  soon,  but  she  repeated  her 
confidence  in  her  uncle. 

Hobart, however,  was  gloomy;  his  joy  of  the  morn 
ing  seemed  to  have  passed  quickly. 

"I  don't  like  it,"  he  remarked  to  Harley.  "Jimmy 
Grayson  seems  to  have  followed  the  lead  of  these 
men  without  once  saying:  'I  am  the  nominee  and 
it  is  for  me  to  say."1 

346 


THE    CANDIDATE 

"And  why  not?  Every  dictate  of  prudence  re 
quires  that  he  should.  What  is  the  use  of  taking  up 
such  a  troublesome  question  at  this  late  day  of  the 
campaign?" 

"But  there  will  be  no  fight!"  This  was  said  very 
plaintively. 

Harley  smiled. 

"I  sincerely  hope  we  will  escape  one,"  he  said. 

Mr.  Grayson,  after  the  brief  talk,  retired  to  his 
state-room,  and  for  a  long  time  did  not  see  anybody. 
Harley  knew  that  he  was  thinking  deeply,  and  when 
the  time  came  for  the  next  speech  at  another  way- 
station,  he  followed  close  behind  and  was  keenly 
watchful. 

Again  the  members  of  the  committee  arranged 
themselves  on  the  stage  in  a  formidable  semicircle 
behind  the  speaker,  and  surveyed  the  audience  with 
an  air  that  bore  a  tinge  of  weary  disdain.  They  were 
in  one  of  the  most  barren  parts  of  the  country,  a 
section  that  could  never  be  developed  into  anything 
great,  and  Mr.  Crayon  looked  upon  a  speech  there 
as  a  sheer  waste  of  time. 

The  candidate  spoke  upon  many  important  issues, 
and  then  he  began  to  skirmish  gingerly  around  the 
edge  of  one  that  hitherto  had  been  permitted  to 
slumber  quietly.  He  did  not  show  any  wish  to 
make  a  direct  attack,  just  a  desire  to  worry  and 
tease,  as  it  were,  a  disposition  to  fire  a  few  shots, 
more  for  the  sake  of  creating  an  alarm  than  to  do 
damage. 

The  committee  at  once  felt  apprehension.  This 
was  forbidden  ground.  The  candidate  was  growing 
entirely  too  frivolous;  he  should  be  reminded  of  his 
duty  to  the  country  and  to  great  business  interests. 
Yet  they  could  do  nothing  at  the  moment ;  Mr.  Gray- 

347 


THE    CANDIDATE 

son  was  speaking,  and  it  was  impossible  to  inter 
rupt  him. 

But  Harley,  attentive  and  knowing  everything  that 
passed  in  their  minds,  enjoyed  their  uneasiness.  He 
saw  them  quiver  and  shrink,  and  then  grow  angry, 
as  Mr.  Grayson  skirmished  closer  and  closer  to  the 
forbidden  ground,  that  area  sown  with  traps  and 
pitfalls,  in  which  many  a  man  has  broken  his  political 
limbs,  yea,  has  even  lost  his  political  life.  He  watch 
ed  the  massive  Mr.  Goodnight  as  he  swelled  with  im 
portance  and  indignation.  He  knew  that  the  great 
manufacturer  was  on  pins  to  get  at  the  candidate,  to 
tell  him  the  terrible  mistake  that  he  was  so  near  to 
making,  and  perhaps  to  lecture  him  a  little  on  the 
indiscretions  of  youth  and  inexperience.  But,  per 
force,  he  remained  silent  until  Mr.  Grayson  con 
cluded,  and  then  as  the  crowd  was  leaving,  he  ap 
proached  him.  The  candidate  seemed  to  be  in  a 
light  and  joyous  humor,  and  he  lifted  his  hand  in  a 
gesture  that  was  a  dismissal  of  care. 

"Remember  our  coming  conference  to-night,  Mr. 
Goodnight,"  he  said.  "We  will  discuss  everything 
then." 

He  smiled  as  he  spoke,  and  walked  on,  but  Mr. 
Goodnight  felt  himself  waved  aside  in  a  manner  that 
was  not  pleasing  to  his  sense  of  dignity ;  he  was  sixty 
years  old,  and  he  had  done  great  things  in  the  world. 

Harley  and  Hobart  saw  it  all,  and  light  began  to 
appear  on  Hobart's  gloomy  countenance. 

"Harley,"  he  said,  "I  believe  that  after  all  my 
first  intuition  was  correct.  We  may  yet  have 
trouble." 

Harley  was  not  so  sure.  It  seemed  to  him  that 
the  affair,  which  was  really  not  an  affair,  merely  the 
bud  and  promise  of  one,  could  be  adjusted,  especially 

348 


THE    CANDIDATE 

in  these  shortening  days  of  the  campaign.  Tact 
would  do  it,  and  he  was  full  of  hope. 

The  members  of  the  committee  went  into  their 
private  car  and  were  inhospitable  the  remainder  of 
the  day ;  apparently  they  wished  to  be  alone,  and  no 
one  was  inclined  to  violate  their  wish.  Harley  sup 
posed  that  they  were  in  conference,  and  he  was  cor 
rect. 

They  arrived  at  Philipsburg  in  a  gorgeous  twilight 
that  wrapped  the  Western  mountains  in  red  and  gold, 
but  Harley  scarcely  noticed  either  the  town  or  the 
colors  over  it.  He  was  full  of  anxiety,  as  he  began 
to  share  Hobart's  view  that  something  was  going  to 
happen,  although  he  did  not  take  the  same  cheerful 
view  of  trouble. 

The  speech  at  Philipsburg  was  not  long.  Again 
Jimmy  Grayson  skirmished  around  the  dangerous 
question,  but,  as  before,  he  did  not  make  any  direct 
attack  upon  it.  Just  when  the  committee  became 
most  alarmed,  he  withdrew  his  forces,  and  the  speech 
once  more  closed  with  the  decisive  things  unsaid. 

But  as  soon  as  the  crowd  dispersed,  the  Great 
Philipsburg  Conference  began.  The  large  parlor  of 
the  hotel  had  been  obtained,  and  when  Jimmy  Gray- 
son  started,  he  put  his  hand  on  Harley 's  shoulder, 
saying: 

"  Harley,  the  press  is  excluded  from  this  conference, 
which  is  secret,  but  I  take  you  with  me  in  your 
capacity  as  a  private  citizen.  I  have  made  it  a  req 
uisite  with  the  committee,  because  you  are  a  friend 
and  I  may  need  your  help." 

Harley  gave  him  a  glance  of  gratitude  and  appre 
ciation,  and  the  two  together  entered  the  designated 
room.  It  was  a  large,  cheerful  apartment,  with  a 
wood-fire  burning  on  the  broad  hearth.  The  mem- 

349 


THE    CANDIDATE 

bers  of  the  committee  were  already  there,  and  Mr. 
Goodnight  stood  importantly,  back  to  the  fire,  with 
a  hand  in  either  pocket,  and  a  coat-tail  under  either 
arm.  Mr.  Crayon  leaned  against  the  wall  and  gen 
tly  stroked  his  arm. 

They  exchanged  the  usual  commonplaces  about 
the  weather  and  the  campaign,  and,  as  they  spoke, 
most  of  the  committee  looked  darkly  at  Harley, 
but  they  said  nothing.  It  was  quite  evident  that 
his  presence  was  a  matter  arranged  definitely  by 
Mr.  Grayson,  and  it  was  politic  for  them  to  en 
dorse  it. 

Mr.  Grayson  settled  himself  easily  into  an  arm 
chair,  and  looked  around  as  if  to  say  he  was  ready 
to  listen.  Harley  stood  by  a  window,  careless  in 
manner,  seemingly,  but  never  more  watchful  in  his 
life,  and  on  fire  with  curiosity. 

Mr.  Goodnight  glanced  at  Mr.  Crayon,  and  Mr. 
Crayon  glanced  at  Mr.  Goodnight.  There  came  at 
once  to  Harley  an  amusing  thought  about  putting 
the  bell  on  the  tiger.  But  perhaps  these  men  re 
garded  themselves  as  tigers. 

Mr.  Goodnight  gave  a  premonitory  cough,  and 
taking  his  hands  out  of  his  pockets  let  his  coat-tails 
drop.  This  also  was  a  signal. 

"Mr.  Grayson,"  he  said,  "we  have  admired  your 
campaign — have  admired  it  greatly;  we  have  appre 
ciated  the  skill  with  which  you  have  kept  away  from 
dangerous  subjects,  and  we  have  been  sure  that  it 
would  continue  to  the  end,  but  I  must  confess  that 
this  confidence  of  ours  was  shaken  a  little  to-day — 
I  trust  that  I  am  not  hurting  your  feelings." 

"Oh  no,  not  at  all.  I  also  have  a  statement  to 
make,"  said  Jimmy  Grayson,  ingenuously.  "But  I 
shall  be  glad  to  hear  yours  first." 

350 


THE   CANDIDATE 

The  big  men  were  somewhat  disconcerted,  and  Mr. 
Crayon  spoke  up  briskly : 

"Great  issues  at  stake.  In  such  emergencies 
Presidential  nominees  must  hear  advice." 

"You  are  right,"  said  Jimmy  Grayson,  gravely. 
"A  Presidential  nominee  ought  always  to  listen  to 
advice." 

Mr.  Goodnight's  face  cleared. 

"  We  feel  that  we  are  in  a  position  to  speak  plainly, 
Mr.  Grayson,"  he  said.  "We  are  elderly  men,  used 
to  the  handling  of  large  affairs,  and — and  this  can 
not  be  said  of  all  others  in  our  party.  We  noticed 
to-day  how  you  skirted  dangerously  upon  the  tariff 
question,  which  we  think — in  fact,  which  we  know — 
should  be  avoided.  It  is  a  dangerous  thing,  and  we 
trust  it  is  only  an  indiscretion  that  will  not  be  re 
peated;  or,  perhaps,  it  might  be  a  little  sop  to  these 
people  out  here,  who  really  do  not  count." 

Harley  glanced  at  Jimmy  Grayson,  who  was  dis 
tinctly  in  the  position  of  one  receiving  a  lecture  from 
his  elders,  and,  therefore,  from  those  who  knew  more 
than  he.  But  the  face  of  the  candidate  expressed 
nothing  save  gravity  and  attention. 

"That  is  quite  true,"  he  said. 

"I  am  glad  that  you  recognize  our  need,"  said  Mr. 
Goodnight.  "  I  do  not  know  how  you  feel  personally 
upon  this  great  question,  but,  as  I  take  it,  politics 
and  one's  private  opinion  are  different  things." 

Jimmy  Grayson  raised  his  head  as  if  he  were  going 
to  speak,  but  he  let  it  drop  without  saying  anything, 
and  the  great  manufacturer  continued: 

"It  is  often  necessary  to  submerge  the  lesser  in  the 
greater,  and  never  was  there  a  more  obvious  instance 
of  it  than  this.  We,  and  by  'we  '  I  mean  the  great 
financial  interests  of  the  party,  are  interested  in  the 


THE    CANDIDATE 

tariff,  and  believe  that  it  is  best  as  it  is.  We  do  not 
know  how  you  stand  personally,  but  there  is  no  ques 
tion  how  you  should  stand  politically.  We  men  of 
finance  may  be  in  a  minority  within  the  party  in  the 
matter  of  votes,  but  perhaps  we  may  constitute  a 
majority  in  other  and  more  important  respects." 

"All  wings  of  the  party  are  entitled  to  an  opinion," 
said  Jimmy  Grayson. 

"True,  but  the  opinion  of  one  wing  may  be  worth 
more  than  the  opinion  of  another  wing,"  continued 
Mr.  Goodnight;  "and  for  that  reason  we  who  stand 
at  the  centres  from  which  the  affairs  of  America  are 
conducted  are  here.  We  see  the  unwisdom  of  ap 
proaching  such  a  subject,  and,  above  all,  the  destruc 
tion  that  would  be  caused  if  you  were  to  speak  fully 
upon  it.  It  is  a  topic  that  must  be  eliminated." 

Harley  saw  a  quick  glitter  appear  in  the  eyes  of 
Jimmy  Grayson,  and  then  it  was  shut  out  by  the 
lowered  lids. 

"  But  if  this  is  an  issue,  and  if  I  am  to  judge  from 
the  overwhelming  testimony  of  the  press  it  is  an 
issue,"  said  Mr.  Grayson,  gently,  "ought  I  not  in 
duty  both  to  my  party  and  myself  declare  how  I 
stand  upon  it?  I  freely  confess  to  you  that  the 
matter  looks  somewhat  troublesome,  and,  therefore, 
I  am  glad  that  we  can  consult  with  one  another." 

"Why  troublesome?"  exclaimed  Mr.  Crayon,  short 
ly.  "Seems  to  me,  Mr.  Grayson,  that  your  shrewd 
political  eye  would  see  point  at  once.  Above  all  things 
must  avoid  split  in  the  party.  Campaign  will  soon 
close,  you  are  here  in  Far  West,  nothing  can  force  you 
to  speak,  you  avoid  issue  to  the  last;  clever  politics, 
seems  to  me." 

And  Mr.  Crayon  rubbed  his  smooth  chin,  his  eye 
lighting  up  with  a  satisfied  smile.  Harley  glanced 

352 


THE    CANDIDATE 

again  at  Jimmy  Grayson,  and  saw  a  frown  pass  over 
his  face,  but  it  was  fleeting,  and  when  he  spoke  once 
more  his  voice  was  unemotional. 

"Clever  politics  is  a  phrase  hard  to  define,"  he 
said.  "  One  does  not  always  know  just  where  clever 
ness  lies.  I  have  not  said  anything  definite  upon 
this  issue,  but  it  doubtless  occurs  to  you  gentlemen 
that  I  may  have  opinions." 

The  committee  stirred,  and  Mr.  Crayon  and  Mr. 
Goodnight  looked  at  each  other;  it  was  evident  to 
them  that  they  had  not  taken  the  candidate  in  hand 
too  soon.  Harley  felt  no  abatement  of  interest. 

"That  is  just  the  point,"  said  Mr.  Goodnight, 
"  and  so  we  have  come  West.  We  felt  that  we  must 
act." 

Harley  expected  to  see  a  flame  of  wrath  appear  on 
Jimmy  Grayson's  face,  but  the  candidate  was  un 
moved. 

"Of  course  you  know  what  would  happen  if  you 
were  to  declare  for  reduction,"  said  Mr.  Goodnight. 
They  seemed  to  take  it  for  granted  that  if  he  declared 
at  all  it  would  be  for  reduction. 

"Not  at  all,"  replied  Mr.  Grayson. 

"But  I  do,"  said  Mr.  Goodnight,  with  emphasis. 
"The  wealthy,  the  important  wing  of  the  party, 
would  be  bound  to  disown  you." 

"Ah!"  said  Jimmy  Grayson. 

Harley  felt  a  thrill  of  anger,  but  he  did  not  move. 

The  silent  members  of  the  committee,  who  were 
sitting,  stirred  in  their  chairs,  and  their  clothes 
rustled  importantly.  They  felt  that  equivocation 
and  indirection  were  thrust  aside,  and  the  law  was 
now  being  laid  down. 

"Then  I  am  to  understand  that  silence  on  this 
question  is  a  requisite,"  said  Mr.  Grayson,  mildly. 

"  353 


THE   CANDIDATE 

"Undoubtedly,"  replied  Mr.  Goodnight,  with  grow 
ing  emphasis.  "We  are  quite  convinced  of  its  nec 
essity,  and  it  is  the  demand  that  we  make.  A  Presi 
dential  candidate  must  always  listen  to  advice." 

"But  sometimes  it  has  seemed  to  me,"  said  Mr. 
Grayson,  musingly,  "that  in  a  Presidential  campaign 
the  public  is  entitled  to  certain  privileges,  or,  rather, 
that  it  has  certain  rights,  and  chief  among  these  is 
to  know  just  how  its  candidate  stands  on  any  im 
portant  issue." 

"It  would  never  do!  It  would  never  do!"  ex 
claimed  Mr.  Goodnight,  hastily,  and  with  some  tem 
per.  "We  cannot  allow  it!" 

Harley  glanced  again  at  Jimmy  Grayson,  but  the 
candidate's  lids  were  lowered,  and  no  flash  came 
from  his  eye. 

"I  put  it  forward  in  a  tentative  way,"  he  said,  in 
the  same  mild  and  musing  tone.  "  Of  course,  I  may 
be  mistaken.  I  have  received  many  telegrams  from 
important  people  asking  how  I  stand,  and  I  notice 
that  the  press  is  discussing  the  same  question  very 
actively." 

"They  can  be  waved  aside,"  said  Mr.  Crayon, 
loftily.  "Telegrams  can  go  unanswered,  and  why 
bother  about  a  foolish  press?" 

"Still,"  said  Jimmy  Grayson,  mildly,  but  tenacious 
ly,  "the  public  has  certain  rights." 

"An  ignorant  mob  that  can  be  left  in  ignorance," 
said  Mr.  Crayon,  briskly. 

"Nothing  must  be  said!  Nothing  must  be  said! 
Quite  resolved  upon  that!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Good 
night,  brusquely. 

"This  resolution  is  unchangeable,  I  take  it?': 
asked  Jimmy  Grayson,  in  tones  milder  than  ever. 

"There  is  not  the  least  possibility  of  a  change," 
354 


replied  Mr.  Goodnight,  in  a  tone  of  finality.  ''We 
have  considered  the  question  from  every  side,  and 
nothing  is  to  be  said.  Of  course,  if  you  were  to 
declare  for  a  revision,  we  should  have  to  abandon 
you  at  once  to  overwhelming  defeat." 

"But  I  should  like  to  say  a  few  words  upon  the 
subject,"  said  Jimmy  Grayson,  and  there  was  a  slight 
touch  of  pleading  in  his  tone,  "just  as  a  sort  of  salve 
to  my  conscience.  You  see  I  am  troubled  about  all 
these  requests  that  I  should  declare  myself,  and  I  have 
certain  ideas  about  what  a  candidate  should  do,  in 
which  I  differ  from  you,  and  in  which  probably  I  am 
wrong,  but  I  cannot  help  it.  I  should  like  to  ease 
my  mind,  and  hence  I  ask  you  that  I  be  permitted 
to  say  a  few  words.  Just  one  little  speech,  and  I 
will  not  handle  the  subject  again,  if  you  direct  me 
not  to  do  so." 

"We  are  against  it;  we  are  against  saying  a  single 
word,"  declared  Mr.  Goodnight. 

"Just  one  little  speech,"  pleaded  Jimmy  Grayson. 
"I  think  the  people  are  entitled  to  it.  We  stop  to 
morrow  at  a  small  station,  a  place  of  not  more  than 
twenty  houses;  I  should  like  to  say  something  there, 
and  that  would  serve  as  a  claim  later  on  that  I  had 
not  avoided  the  issue.  But,  as  I  said,  I  promise  you 
that  I  will  not  touch  the  subject  again  without  your 
permission." 

"Don't  believe  in  it!  Don't  believe  in  it!"  said 
Mr.  Crayon,  snappily. 

"I  am  afraid  I  shall  have  to  insist,"  said  Jimmy 
Grayson,  plaintively.  "I  do  not  like  to  say  any 
thing  that  would  displease  such  powerful  friends, 
but  our  people  are  peculiar,  sometimes.  I  feel  that 
I  must  touch  the  subject  a  little  when  we  reach 
Waterville  to-morrow  morning." 

355 


THE    CANDIDATE 

He  spoke  in  his  most  propitiatory  tones,  but  the 
committee  was  still  stirred.  Mr.  Goodnight,  Mr. 
Crayon,  and  their  associates  demanded  absolute 
silence,  and  they  had  not  found  it  difficult  to  over 
awe  the  candidate.  Yet  there  was  a  certain  mild 
persistence  in  his  tone  which  told  them  that  they 
should  humor  him  a  little,  as  one  would  a  spoiled  or 
hurt  child.  They,  as  men  of  the  world,  knew  that  it 
was  not  well  to  bear  too  hard  on  the  bit. 

They  conferred  a  little,  leaving  Jimmy  Grayson 
alone  in  his  chair,  where  he  remained  silent  and  with 
inexpressive  face.  Harley  still  stood  by  the  win 
dow.  He  had  never  spoken,  but  nothing  escaped 
his  attention.  More  than  once  he  was  hot  with 
anger,  but  none  of  the  committeemen  ever  looked 
at  him. 

"If  you  insist,  and  as  you  say  you  will,  we  yield 
this  little  point,"  said  Mr.  Goodnight,  "but  we  only 
do  so  because  Waterville  is  such  a  small  place.  Even 
then  we  are  not  sure  that  it  is  not  an  indiscretion, 
to  call  it  by  a  mild  name,  and  if  anything  should 
come  of  it  you  would  have  to  bear  the  full  respon 
sibility,  Mr.  Grayson." 

"That  is  true,"  said  Jimmy  Grayson,  cheerfully, 
"but  as  you  have  said,  Waterville  is  a  small,  a  very 
small  place;  one  could  hardly  find  a  smaller  on  the 
map." 

"In  that  event  it  will  doubtless  do  no  harm,"  said 
Mr.  Goodnight,  relaxing  a  little,  and  Mr.  Crayon, 
stroking  his  smoothly  shaven  chin,  said  after  him: 
"No  harm;  no  harm,  perhaps,  in  so  small  a  place!" 

Harley  had  never  moved  from  the  window,  and 
again  he  studied  Jimmy  Grayson's  face  with  the 
keenest  attention.  Harley  was  a  fine  judge  of  char 
acter,  but  he  could  read  nothing  there,  save  gravity, 

356 


THE   CANDIDATE 

As  for  himself,  he  felt  often  those  hot  thrills  of  anger 
at  the  words  of  these  men;  would  nothing  stir  them 
from  their  complacency?  He  had,  too,  a  sense  of 
pain  at  Jimmy  Grayson's  lack  of  resentment.  It 
was  true  that  their  support  was  a  necessity,  but  after 
all  they  were  a  minority  within  the  party,  and  one 
might  remind  them  of  the  fact.  Yet  Jimmy  Gray- 
son  probably  knew  best;  he  understood  politics,  and 
perhaps  his  course  was  the  wiser.  But  Harley  sighed. 

After  the  victory,  although  it  had  not  been  a 
difficult  one  to  win,  the  members  of  the  committee 
were  disposed  to  condescend  a  little.  They  sent  to 
their  private  car  for  champagne  and  other  luxuries 
which  the  candidate  and  Harley  touched  but  lightly, 
and  they  treated  even  Harley,  the  newspaper-man, 
with  graciousness. 

Mr.  Crayon  felt  the  flame  of  humor  sparkling  in 
his  veins,  and  he  jested  lightly  on  the  little  speech 
at  Waterville.  "Just  think  of  our  candidate  wast 
ing  sweetness  on  desert  air,"  he  said,  "for  Water 
ville  is  in  desert,  and,  as  I  am  reliably  informed,  has 
less  than  forty  inhabitants." 

Jimmy  Grayson  showed  no  resentment,  but  smiled 
gravely. 

"Of  course  Mr.  Harley  understands  that  all  this 
is  sub  rosa,"  said  Mr.  Goodnight,  looking  severely 
at  the  correspondent. 

"Mr.  Harley  knows  it,  and  he  is  to  be  trusted  en 
tirely,"  said  Jimmy  Grayson.  "Otherwise  I  should 
not  have  brought  him  with  me.  I  vouch  for  the 
fact  that  he  will  say  nothing  of  this  meeting  until 
we  give  him  permission." 

Mr.  Grayson  presently  excused  himself,  on  the 
plea  that  he  needed  sleep,  a  plea  which  was  admitted 
by  everybody,  and  Harley  also  withdrew,  while  the 

357 


members  of  the  committee  went  to  their  private  car 
pleased  with  the  evening's  work.  Thus  the  Great 
Philipsburg  Conference  came  to  an  end. 

The  candidate  .and  Harley  walked  together  to 
their  rooms  through  a  rather  dim  hall,  but  it  was  not 
too  dim  to  hide  from  Harley  a  singular  expression 
that  passed  over  the  face  of  the  candidate.  It  was 
gone  like  a  flash,  but  it  seemed  to  Harley  to  be  a 
compound  of  anger  and  anticipation.  Wisely  he 
kept  silent,  and  Jimmy  Grayson,  stopping  a  mo 
ment  at  his  own  door,  said,  in  the  grave  but  other 
wise  expressionless  tone  that  he  had  used  through 
out  the  discussion: 

"Good-night,  Harley;  I  don't  think  we  shall  for 
get  this  evening,  shall  we?" 

"No,"  replied  Harley,  and  he  tried  to  decipher  a 
meaning  in  Jimmy  Grayson's  tone,  but  he  could  not. 

When  Harley  turned  away,  he  found  Hobart, 
Blaisdell,  Churchill,  and  all  the  other  correspond 
ents  waiting  for  him  at  the  end  of  the  hall  to  get  the 
news  of  the  conference. 

"There  is  nothing,  not  a  line,"  said  Harley. 

They  looked  at  him  incredulously. 

"It  is  the  truth,  I  assure  you,"  continued  Harley. 
"  I  am  not  sending  a  word  to  my  own  paper.  I  am 
going  straight  to  my  bed." 

"  If  you  say  so,  Harley,  I  believe  you,"  said  Church 
ill.  "  Besides,  it's  past  one  o'clock  now,  and  that's 
past  four  o'clock  in  New  York  and  past  three  in 
Chicago;  all  the  papers  have  gone  to  press,  and  we 
couldn't  send  anything  if  we  wanted  to  do  so." 

"There  is  nothing  to  tell  you,"  said  Harley,  "ex 
cept  that  Mr.  Grayson  will  allude  to  the  tariff  in  his 
speech  to-morrow,  or,  rather,  this  morning,  at  Water- 
ville.  He  has  promised  the  committee  not  to  do  so 

358 


THE   CANDIDATE 

again — they  were  not  very  willing  to  grant  him  even 
so  little — but  it  is  a  sort  of  sop  to  Cerberus ;  later  on, 
if  any  one  twits  him  with  avoiding  the  revision,  he 
can  say,  and  say  truthfully,  that  he  has  spoken  on  it." 

"I  see,"  said  Churchill. 

And  before  they  could  ask  him  anything  more 
Harley  had  entered  his  own  room  and  was  going  to 
bed. 

The  morning  dawned  badly.  The  sun  shone  dim 
ly  through  a  mass  of  dirty  brown  clouds,  and  the 
mountains  were  hidden  in  mist.  A  slow  and  provok 
ing  cold  rain  was"  falling.  It  was  also  a  start  at  the 
first  daylight,  and,  forced  to  rise  too  early  from  their 
beds,  all  were  in  a  bad  humor.  Even  Sylvia  was 
hid  in  a  heavy  cloak,  and  she  did  not  smile.  Harley 
had  told  her  that  he  could  make  nothing  of  the 
conference  the  night  before. 

They  reached  Waterville  an  hour  later,  and  they 
found  it  even  smaller  and  bleaker  than  they  ex 
pected.  Although  the  usual  body  of  citizens  was 
on  hand  to  meet  them  at  the  train,  the  attendance 
was  less  than  at  any  point  hitherto.  The  shed  un 
der  which  Jimmy  Grayson  was  to  speak  would  easily 
hold  them. 

But  the  members  of  the  committee,  when  they 
came  from  their  private  car,  showed  satisfaction. 
They  had  enjoyed  a  good  breakfast,  their  chef,  as 
Harley  could  testify,  was  one  of  the  best,  and  they 
were  not  averse  to  hearing  the  candidate  make  his 
record  good.  Hence  they  were  all  comfortably  ar 
ranged  on  the  platform  in  their  usual  solid  semicircle 
when  Mr.  Grayson  appeared.  The  candidate  him 
self  was  a  bit  later  than  usual,  but  he  gave  them  a 
cheerful  good-morning  when  he  appeared,  and  then 
proceeded  at  once  to  the  matter  of  the  speech. 

359 


THE    CANDIDATE 

The  audience,  though  small,  greeted  Mr.  Gray  son 
with  the  heartiest  applause,  and  he  soon  had  them 
under  his  spell.  He  talked  a  while  on  the  custom 
ary  issues,  and  then  he  said: 

"Gentlemen,  there  is  one  question  which  seemed 
in  previous  campaigns  to  be  of  paramount  impor 
tance,  but  in  this  it  has  been  suffered  a  long  time  to 
rest.  Lately,  however,  it  has  been  rising  into  promi 
nence  again.  In  the  great  centres  of  population  to  the 
eastward  it  has  become  a  question  first  in  the  minds 
of  the  people,  and  before  the  campaign  closes  it  is 
bound  to  become  as  momentous  here." 

Harley,  in  a  seat  at  the  corner  of  the  stage,  glanced 
at  the  committee,  and  he  noticed  a  slight  shade  of 
disapproval  on  all  their  faces.  The  candidate  was  a 
little  too  strong  in  his  preamble,  but  they  smiled 
again  when  they  noticed  his  face  which  wore  an  ex 
pression  so  gentle  and  innocent. 

"It  has  been  but  recently  that  the  matter  came 
to  my  attention,"  continued  the  candidate,  in  an 
easy,  conversational  tone,  "but  in  the  time  since 
then  I  have  been  thinking  about  it  a  great  deal. 
This  question  I  need  scarcely  tell  you  is  the  revision 
of  the  tariff,  and  I  am  going  to  speak  to  you  about 
it  this  morning." 

There  was  a  sudden  cheer  from  the  audience,  and 
the  people  seemed  to  draw  closer  around  the  speak 
er's  stand.  Their  faces  glowed  with  interest.  Sylvia 
sat  up  straight  and  her  eyes  sparkled.  The  com 
mittee  looked  a  warning  at  Jimmy  Gray  son,  but  he 
did  not  see  it. 

"This  question  has  come  up  late,"  he  said,  "and 
perhaps  it  could  have  been  put  aside.  I  have  been 
told  that  it  would  be  for  the  good  of  our  party,  par 
ticularly  in  this  campaign,  to  do  so,  and  many  have 

360 


THE   CANDIDATE 

advised  me  to  keep  silence,  saying  that  I  could  con 
sistently  and  honorably  follow  such  a  course,  as  our 
platform  does  not  declare  itself  on  the  question ;  but 
there  are  some  things  that  trouble  me.  This  is  an 
issue,  I  feel  sure,  which  must  be  threshed  out  sooner 
or  later,  and  as  it  is  now  so  importantly  before  the 
country  I  think  that  I,  as  the  standard-bearer  of 
our  party,  should  have  an  opinion  upon  it." 

The  audience  cheered  again,  and  longer  and  louder 
than  ever.  Sylvia's  eyes  not  only  sparkled,  they 
flashed.  Mr.  Goodnight  half  rose  in  his  seat  and 
said  something  in  a  loud  whisper  to  the  candidate, 
but  Mr.  Grayson  did  not  hear  it  and  went  on  with 
his  speech. 

"It  did  not  take  me  long  to  make  up  my  mind," 
he  continued.  "  I  have  decided  opinions  upon  the  sub 
ject,  and  what  they  are  I  shall  tell  you  before  I  leave 
this  stage;  but  first  I  want  to  tell  you  a  story." 

Mr.  Grayson  did  not  tell  stories  often;  he  did  so 
only  when  they  were  thoroughly  relevant,  and  Ho- 
bart,  Blaisdell,  and  the  other  correspondents  leaned 
forward  with  sudden  interest.  Sylvia's  face  glowed. 

"I  think  I'll  sharpen  my  lead-pencils,"  said  Ho- 
bart. 

"I  would  if  I  were  you,"  said  Harley. 

"This  story,"  continued  the  candidate,  in  an  easy, 
confidential  manner,  "is  about  a  man  who  was  in  a 
position  much  like  mine.  He  was  the  nominee  of 
his  party  for  a  most  important  office,  and  towards 
the  close  of  his  campaign  a  great  issue  came  up  again, 
just  as  in  my  case.  He  did  not  think  that  he  ought 
to  keep  silent  about  it,  but  when  he  was  thinking 
over  what  he  ought  to  say  a  committee  of  men, 
representing  a  minority  in  his  party,  arrived  from 
the  great  centres  of  population,  industry,  and  finance 


THE    CANDIDATE 

— he  was  then  far  away  in  a  thinly  settled  and  some 
what  isolated  region." 

Again  the  committee  stirred,  and  they  whispered 
loudly  both  to  one  another  and  to  Mr.  Grayson,  but 
he  paid  no  heed  to  them  and  spoke  on.  All  the  cor 
respondents  were  writing  rapidly,  eagerly,  and  with 
rapt  attention,  while  Sylvia's  eyes  still  sparkled  and 
flashed. 

"Well,  the  members  of  this  committee  and  the 
man  met,"  continued  the  candidate,  "and  from  the 
first  they  treated  him  as  one  who  might  have  an 
opinion  of  his  own  but  who  must  not  be  allowed  to 
express  it.  They  were  not  bad  men,  perhaps,  but  a 
long  course  of  exclusive  attention  to  their  own  per 
sonal  interests  had,  we  will  say,  narrowed  them. 
That  personal  advantage  was  always  dangling  be 
fore  them;  they  could  see  nothing  else.  The  sun 
rose  and  set  in  its  interest,  and  such  an  affair  as  the 
government  of  a  mighty  nation  like  the  United  States 
must  be  regulated  with  sole  regard  to  it.  They 
thought  they  knew  everything  in  the  world  when 
they  knew  only  one  thing  in  it.  Their  ignorance 
was  equalled  only  by  their  presumption." 

The  rolling  cheer  came  once  more  from  the  au 
dience,  but  Harley  saw  that  the  faces  of  the  com 
mittee  had  turned  red.  They  whispered  no  more, 
but  stared  angrily  and  uneasily  at  Jimmy  Grayson, 
who  did  not  notice  them. 

"How  glad  I  am  that  I  sharpened  all  my  lead- 
pencils!"  said  Hobart,  in  a  low  tone  to  Harley. 

But  Harley  never  stopped  writing. 

"They  did  not  even  have  the  tact  to  treat  this 
candidate  with  courtesy  and  consideration,"  con 
tinued  Mr.  Grayson.  "They  lectured  him  on  his 
comparative  youth  and  his  ignorance  of  the  world, 

363 


THE   CANDIDATE 

when  it  was  they  who  were  ignorant.  They  told 
him,  without  hesitation,  regardless  of  his  own  opin 
ion  and  the  fact  that  he  was  a  free  man  among  free 
men,  that  he  must  not  speak  on  this  issue.  They 
threatened  him." 

"Did  he  take  the  bluff?"  shouted  a  big  man  in 
the  audience. 

"Wait  and  we  shall  see,"  said  Jimmy  Grayson, 
sweetly.  "They  were  entitled  to  their  opinion,  and 
he  would  have  heard  their  advice,  but  their  manner 
was  intolerable;  they  undertook  to  treat  him  as  a 
child.  They  called  him  to  a  conference,  and  there 
they  laid  down  the  law  to  him  as  a  school-master 
would  order  a  sulking  child  to  be  good." 

"Did  he  take  the  bluff?"  again  shouted  the  big 
man  in  the  crowd. 

"  Wait  and  we  shall  see,"  repeated  Jimmy  Grayson, 
as  sweetly  as  ever.  "Well,  this  conference  came  to 
pass,  and  it  lasted  a  long  time,  but  only  the  com 
mittee  talked;  they  gave  the  candidate  scarcely  a 
chance  to  say  a  word.  They  treated  him  with  in 
creasing  arrogance.  They  said  that  if  he  declared 
himself  upon  this  great  issue  they  would  bolt  the 
party  and  let  him  go  headlong  to  destruction." 

"The  traitors!"  shouted  the  big  man  in  the  au 
dience.  But  the  members  of  the  committee,  from 
some  strange  cause,  seemed  to  be  struck  speechless. 
Their  jaws  fell,  but  the  faces  of  them  all  were  as 
red  as  fire.  Sylvia  leaned  forward  and  clapped  her 
gloved  hands. 

"Blaisdell,"  whispered  Hobart,  "slip  away  and 
arrange  at  the  telegraph-office;  any  of  us  will  give 
you  his  report.  I  shall  have  at  least  five  thousand 
words  myself." 

Blaisdell  slid  noiselessly  away. 
363 


THE   CANDIDATE 

"The  candidate  endured  it  all,  but  only  for  the 
time,"  thundered  Jimmy  Grayson,  and  now  his  voice 
was  swelling  with  passion,  while  his  eyes  fairly  spar 
kled  with  heat  and  anger — "but  only  for  the  time. 
He  had  decided  opinions  upon  this  subject,  as  I  have 
upon  the  question  of  tariff  revision,  and  he  intended 
to  utter  them  as  I  intend  to  utter  mine.  They  said 
— and  they  said  it  with  intolerable  condescension 
and  patronage — that  for  the  sake  of  his  record  he 
might  make  one  little  speech  upon  the  subject  be 
fore  a  few  people  out  in  what  they  called  the  desert, 
and  he  accepted  the  concession.  But  there  was  rage 
in  his  heart.  He  was  willing  to  be  beaten  by  the 
biggest  majority  ever  given  against  a  Presidential 
candidate  before  he  would  yield  to  such  insolent 
dictation.  Moreover,  there  was  the  question  of  his 
true  opinion,  which  the  people  had  a  right  to  know, 
and  he  took  his  resolve.  There  was  that  little  speech, 
and  he  remembered  the  telegraph  wire,  the  thin  line 
that  binds  the  farthest  little  village  to  the  great 
world,  and  I  say  he  took  his  resolve." 

"He  called  the  bluff!"  shouted  the  big  man  in  the 
audience,  in  a  perfect  roar  of  triumph,  and  Jimmy 
Grayson  smiled  sweetly. 

Suddenly  Mr.  Goodnight,  in  all  the  might  of  his 
majesty  and  importance,  rose  up  and  stalked  from 
the  stage,  and  the  eleven  other  members  of  the  com 
mittee,  headed  by  Mr.  Crayon,  followed  him  in  an 
angry  file,  accompanied  by  the  derisive  shouts  of  the 
audience.  They  quickened  their  pace  somewhat 
when  they  reached  solid  ground,  but  before  they 
were  within  the  sheltering  confines  of  their  private 
car,  Jimmy  Grayson  was  launched  upon  his  great 
and  thrilling  tariff  speech,  in  which  he  invested 
the  driest  subject  in  the  world  with  an  interest 


THE   CANDIDATE 

that  absorbed  the  attention  of  ninety  million  peo 
ple. 

All  day  the  wires  eastward  and  westward  sang 
with  the  burden  of  the  great  speech  made  in  the  tiny 
hamlet  of  Waterville,  in  the  Wyoming  mountains, 
and  the  next  morning  it  occupied  the  front  pages  of 
ten  thousand  newspapers.  It  was  absolutely  clear 
and  decisive.  No  one  could  doubt  how  the  candi 
date  stood.  He  was  heart  and  soul  for  revision. 
Sylvia  threw  her  arms  around  his  neck,  and  said, 
"Uncle  James,  I  was  never  prouder  of  you  than  I  am 
at  this  moment." 

When  they  left  Waterville  the  private  car  of  the 
committee  was  still  attached  to  their  train,  but  there 
was  no  communication  between  it  and  the  other 
cars.  About  the  middle  of  the  afternoon  they 
reached  a  junction  with  another  railroad  line.  There 
the  private  car  was  cut  off  and  attached  to  a  new 
engine.  Then  it  sped  eastward  at  the  rate  of  fifty 
miles  an  hour. 

Meanwhile  the  correspondents  were  holding  a  lit 
tle  conference  of  their  own. 

"They  will  bolt  him  sure,"  said  Hobart.  "Will  it 
ruin  Jimmy  Grayson?" 

"I  believe  not,"  said  Harley,  who  had  been  think 
ing  much.  "Of  course  there  will  be  a  split,  but  such 
courage,  and  his  way  of  meeting  their  attack,  will  ap 
peal  to  the  people;  it  will  bring  him  thousands  of 
new  votes. 

"Whether  it  does  or  does  not,"  said  Hobart,  "if 
I  had  been  in  his  place  I'd  have  done  as  he  did." 


XXI 

ALONE    WITH    NATURE 

WHEN  the  party  returned  to  the  train  after 
Jimmy  Grayson's  thrilling  defiance  there  was 
an  air  of  relief,  even  joyousness,  about  them  all.  No 
more  diplomacy,  no  more  watching  for  blows  in  the 
dark,  no  more  waiting,  now  they  knew  who  their 
friends  were,  and  they  knew  equally  well  their 
enemies.  They  could  strike  straight  at  Goodnight, 
Crayon,  and  all  the  others.  Only  in  the  heart  of 
nearly  every  one  of  them  there  was  still  mourning 
for  the  lost  leader,  for  "King"  Plummer,  whom  a 
gust  of  passion  had  led  astray. 

"Well,"  said  Hobart,  "I  thank  God  that  the  split 
has  come  at  last.  Even  if  we  are  beaten  out  of  our 
boots,  I've  got  that  defiance  to  remember,  and  the 
picture  of  Jimmy  Grayson  refusing  either  to  be 
browbeaten  or  cajoled,  even  though  the  price  was 
the  Presidency." 

"We  know  where  we  stand,"  said  Mr.  Heathcote, 
"and  that  at  least  is  a  gain." 

As  for  Sylvia,  she  was  thrilling  with  pride.  Her 
uncle's  high  heroism,  his  superb  truthfulness  ap 
pealed  to  every  quality  in  her  woman's  soul,  and 
with  another  impulse  full  as  womanly  she  hated 
Goodnight,  Crayon,  and  their  associates  with  all  her 
heart;  she  believed  them  capable  of  any  crime,  per 
sonal  as  well  as  political.  She  felt  so  intensely  upon 

366 


THE    CANDIDATE 

the  subject  that  she  wanted  to  speak  of  it  to  some 
body  else,  but  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Grayson  had  withdrawn 
to  the  drawing-room,  and  all  the  correspondents  were 
deep  in  their  work,  as  it  would  be  necessary  to  send 
very  long  despatches  to  the  great  cities  that  day. 

Harley  wrote  five  or  six  thousand  words  full  of 
fire  and  zeal.  As  usual,  he  wrote  from  the  "inside," 
and  his  was  not  a  bare  record  of  facts;  one  reading 
it,  though  three  thousand  miles  away,  was  upon  the 
scene  himself;  everything  passed  before  him  alive; 
he  saw  the  heroic  figure  of  the  candidate  thundering 
forth  his  denunciation;  he  knew  all  that  it  cost,  the 
full  penalty,  and  he  shared  the  stern  impulse  which 
such  a  speaker  in  such  a  situation  must  feel;  he,  too, 
saw  the  astonishment  on  the  faces  of  the  committee, 
astonishment  followed  by  fear  and  rage,  and  he 
shared  also  the  noble  thrill  that  must  come  to  a 
man  who  had  lost  all  save  honor,  but  was  proud  in 
the  losing.  Harley  was  always  a  good  writer,  but 
now  as  he  wrote  he  saw  every  word  burning  be 
fore  him,  so  intense  were  his  feelings,  and  even 
across  the  United  States  he  communicated  the  same 
thrill  to  those  who  read. 

His  despatch  brought  from  his  abrupt  editor  the 
one  word  "Splendid!"  and  it  attracted  marked  at 
tention  not  only  wherever  the  Gazette  went,  but  where 
also  went  the  numerous  journals  into  which  it  was 
copied.  Everybody  who  read  it  said,  "What  a  mag 
nificent  figure  Jimmy  Grayson  is!"  and  the  impres 
sion  was  deepened  and  widened  by  other  writers  on 
the  train  who  were  inferior  in  powers  only  to  Harley. 
In  this  his  day  of  great  disaster  the  candidate  was 
to  find  that  there  were  friends  who  were  truly  bound 
to  him  with  "hooks  of  steel."  Nor  was  he  ungrate 
ful.  The  moisture  rose  in  his  eyes  when  he  first  heard 

36? 


THE  CANDIDATE 

of  their  accounts,  and  in  privacy  he  confided  to  his 
wife  that  he  did  not  know  how  to  thank  them. 

"If  I  were  you  I  should  not  say  anything,"  she 
advised.  "They  will  like  it  better  if  you  don't." 

And  he  did  not. 

Now  the  campaign  took  on  a  new  phase.  Even 
in  the  beginning  it  had  differed  from  any  other  ever 
waged  in  America,  and  since  the  Philipsburg  con 
ference  that  difference,  already  great,  increased.  It 
was  permeated  throughout  by  the  personal  element, 
party  platforms  sank  into  the  background,  and  in 
the  foreground  stood  the  titanic  figure  of  Jimmy 
Grayson  fighting  single-handed  against  a  host  of 
foes. 

His  hero  appealed  more  powerfully  than  ever  to 
Harley;  every  sympathy  within  him  was  aroused 
by  this  lone  figure  who  stood  like  Horatius  at  the 
bridge — the  old  simile  was  always  coming  to  him — 
and  under  its  influence  his  despatches  took  on  a  vivid 
coloring  and  a  keen,  searching  quality  that  thrilled 
all  who  read.  And  many  other  newspapers  gave  the 
same  lifelike  impression. 

The  figure  of  the  candidate,  although  he  was  ad 
mittedly  a  beaten  man,  loomed  larger  than  ever  to 
the  whole  country,  and  his  enemies,  although  count 
ing  already  the  fruits  of  victory,  began  to  feel  a  cer 
tain  awe  of  him.  They  showed  an  anxiety  to  keep 
away  from  him,  even  in  what  they  considered  his 
dying  moments,  and  no  speaker  dared  to  meet  him 
on  the  platform,  despite  the  recollections  of  his  de 
feat  at  Egmont.  The  opposition  often  alluded  to 
this  "defeat,"  and  sought  to  make  great  capital  of 
it,  but  the  sensation  that  it  had  created  at  first 
faded.  It  was  surrounded  by  too  many  brilliant  tri 
umphs  ;  people  would  say  that  on  the  day  of  his  de- 

368 


THE    CANDIDATE 

feat  he  was  ill,  like  Napoleon  at  Leipsic;  that  he  was 
giving  daily  proofs  that  he  was  without  a  match  in 
the  world,  and  one  such  little  incident  did  not  count. 

The  split  in  the  party  was  made  complete.  Mr. 
Goodnight,  Mr.  Crayon,  and  eighteen  of  their  as 
sociates,  all  men  of  wealth  and  influence,  came  out 
in  a  formal  signed  statement  published  first  in  the 
Monitor,  stating  their  position  in  calmness  and  mod 
eration  and  in  measured  language.  They  said  that 
they  had  tried  to  support  Mr.  Grayson;  they  had 
given  him  every  chance ;  they  had  always  been  ready 
with  advice;  they  had  sought  to  instil  in  him  a  full 
sense  of  his  responsibility,  and  to  impart  to  his  mind 
the  breadth  and  solidity  so  necessary  in  a  Presi 
dential  nominee;  they  were  strong  in  party  loyalty, 
and  they  hesitated  long  before  taking  such  a  mo 
mentous  step;  but  they  knew  that  in  every  great 
crisis  brave  men  who  would  not  hesitate  at  great 
risk  to  lead  must  be  found;  therefore  they  stepped 
into  the  breach.  Reluctantly  and  with  much  grief 
they  announced  that  they  could  not  support  Mr. 
Grayson.  He  was  a  menace  to  the  country,  and  they 
felt  that  they  must  remove  this  danger;  hence  they 
would  support  the  other  side,  and  they  advised  all 
the  solid  worth  of  the  country,  those  who  cared  for 
the  national  honor,  to  do  likewise. 

The  Monitor  commented  editorially  in  its  finest 
vein  upon  this  tribute  to  conscience.  It  was  glad  to 
know  that  there  were  yet  brave  and  honest  men;  it 
was  never  worth  while  to  despair  of  the  republic  so 
long  as  such  lofty  and  heroic  citizens  as  Mr.  Good 
night  and  Mr.  Crayon  were  vouchsafed  to  it.  The 
American  people  were  frivolous  and  superficial,  but 
there  was  a  saving  remnant,  men  who  might  almost 
compare  with  the  great  statesmen  of  Europe,  and  in 

»4  369 


THE    CANDIDATE 

every  emergency,  every  crisis,  it  was  they  who  would 
make  enormous  sacrifice  of  private  interest  and  save 
the  state. 

Churchill  followed  the  lead,  and  in  a  long  despatch 
made  a  ferocious  attack  upon  Jimmy  Grayson,  the 
man.  Then,  with  a  concealed  sense  of  importance, 
he  waited  until  the  paper  arrived,  and  when  the  two 
hours  that  he  thought  necessary  to  make  the  im 
pression  deep  had  passed  he  went  in  to  Mr.  Gray- 
son  and  announced  with  an  air  of  great  dignity  that 
he  was  prepared  to  leave  the  train;  he  felt  that  as  a 
keen  and  remorseless  critic  his  presence  would  put  a 
severe  constraint  upon  the  candidate;  there  was 
nothing  personal  in  his  course,  and  he  did  not  wish 
to  prevent  anybody  from  doing  his  best ;  he  was  aware 
that  he  must  be  regarded  with  the  greatest  hostility 
and  apprehension,  and  therefore  he  would  retire, 
seeking  his  news  either  by  going  before  or  by  fol 
lowing, 

"Why,  Mr.  Churchill!"  exclaimed  the  candidate, 
in  surprise,  "we  do  not  dream  of  letting  you  go. 
You  have  been  so  long  with  us  that  your  place  could 
not  be  filled.  I  cannot  consent  to  such  a  thing! 
You  must  stay  with  us  to  the  end!" 

Churchill  felt  that  his  shot  had  missed  again,  but 
he  said: 

"I  spoke  out  of  consideration.  I  thought  that  my 
continued  presence  here  might  have  a  somewhat  dis 
concerting  effect  upon  you." 

"Not  at  all!  Not  at  all!"  replied  the  candidate, 
courageously.  "It's  a  blow,  but  we  prefer  to  bear 
it  rather  than  lose  you.  Ah,  here  is  my  niece,  Sylvia; 
perhaps  she  can  persuade  you.  Sylvia,  Mr.  Church 
ill  speaks  of  leaving  us;  he  thinks  that  he  ought  to 
do  so  because  he  is  a  critic  of  us.  Sylvia,  I  leave 

37o 


THE    CANDIDATE 

him  in  your  hands,  and  I  want  you  to  persuade  him 
that  it  is  only  his  exaggerated  sense  of  honor."  . 

Sylvia  was  not  averse  to  the  task.  She  was  whol 
ly  feminine,  and  hence  there  was  in  her  a  trace  of 
cajolery  which  she  now  used.  She  told  Churchill 
that  her  uncle  and  all  his  friends  felt  the  truth  and 
edge  of  his  criticisms,  but  they  felt,  too,  that  al 
though  he  was  in  the  opposition  now,  they  might, 
nevertheless,  profit  by  them.  And  there  was  the  in 
fluence  of  his  personal  presence  on  the  train — his 
gravity  of  manner  and  his  weighed  and  measured 
speech  were  a  useful  antidote  to  the  flippancy  and 
levity  of  his  associates. 

Sylvia  said  these  things  rather  by  indirection  than 
by  plain  words,  and  under  the  influence  of  such 
soothing  speech  Churchill  gradually  melted  and  be 
came  forgiving;  he  would  stay,  but  it  was  partly  for 
the  sake  of  Miss  Morgan  that  he  stayed,  and  later  in 
the  day  he  confided  to  Mr.  Heathcote  that  he  was 
surprised  at  the  way  Sylvia  was  coming  out;  she 
really  had  strong  and  attractive  qualities;  if  she  were 
to  marry  a  man  of  refinement  and  knowledge  of  the 
world  who  would  exercise  a  stimulating  and  also  a 
corrective  influence  upon  her,  she  might  become  a 
very  fine  woman.  Mr.  Heathcote  bowed  assent,  but 
looked  away  from  Churchill  and  out  of  the  win 
dow.  Churchill's  opinion  of  Mr.  Heathcote  also  im 
proved. 

There  was  yet  one  element  in  the  situation  that 
was  not  clarified.  Mr.  Plummer  not  only  failed  to 
appear  upon  the  scene,  but  did  not  communicate 
in  any  manner  with  either  the  Graysons  or  Sylvia. 
They  heard  of  him  as  floating  about  the  Northwest 
and  full  of  hot  talk,  but  no  one  could  put  his  hand 
upon  him,  and  they  were  puzzled,  because  they  had 

37i 


THE    CANDIDATE 

expected  decisive,  straight-from-the-shoulder  action 
from  the  "King." 

In  this  week  Harley  saw  Sylvia  almost  every  hour 
in  the  day,  but  never  once  did  he  speak  of  the  sub 
ject  that  was  nearest  both  their  hearts.  Sometimes 
he  thought  that  it  would  have  been  better  had  the 
Graysons  granted  her  request  to  go,  because  he  could 
see  that  she  was  suffering  from  a  constant  nervous 
strain,  and  that  her  gayety  with  the  group  was  often 
forced. 

They  came  at  last  to  Graf  ton,  a  village  in  the  cor 
ner  of  North  Dakota,  where  a  sweep  of  low  moun 
tains  opens  out  for  a  space  and  forms  a  wide  val 
ley.  In  that  hollow  lies  Graf  ton,  and  to  Harley  it 
looked  warm  and  inviting.  The  candidate  was  to 
speak  here,  and  as  Harley  ascertained  in  advance 
that  Mr.  Grayson  did  not  intend  to  say  anything 
new,  merely  repeating  a  speech  of  the  day  before,  he 
did  not  consider  it  necessary  to  be  present;  instead, 
he  chose  to  take  a  walk  through  the  town  and  its 
outskirts  for  the  sake  of  fresh  air,  exercise,  and  some 
solitary  musing. 

The  autumn  was  far  advanced  in  that  Northern 
latitude,  but  the  chill  of  winter  had  not  yet  come. 
The  wide  sky  of  glittering  blue  hung  high,  and  in 
the  thin  air  the  mountain-peaks  that  stood  far  away 
came  near;  the  wooden  houses  of  the  new  town  were 
gilded  and  softened  by  the  yellow  sunshine. 

Harley  saw  the  usual  audience — the  ranchmen,  the 
sheep-herders,  the  miners,  and  the  railroad-men—all 
flocking  towards  the  stand  where  the  candidate  would 
speak,  and  exchanging  jocose  or  admiring  comment, 
because  this  was  to  them  both  a  holiday  and  a 
ceremony. 

Only  a  minute  or  two  sufficed  to  carry  him  to  the 
372 


THE    CANDIDATE 

outskirts  of  the  little  town,  and  he  would  have  paid 
no  further  attention  to  the  crowd,  but  he  thought 
he  saw  on  its  fringe  a  broad,  powerful  back  that  he 
knew.  When  he  undertook  to  take  the  second  look 
and  make  sure  the  back  was  gone,  and  Harley  went 
on,  telling  himself,  as  one  is  apt  to  do,  that  it  was 
only  his  fancy.  The  echo  of  cheering  came  to  his 
ears,  and  he  knew  that  the  candidate,  as  usual,  held 
the  audience  in  his  grasp.  Presently  the  echo  died, 
and  those  that  followed  it  did  not  come  to  him,  as 
he  had  left  the  town  behind;  although  from  the  low 
crest  of  a  swell  he  could  see  the  heads  of  the  people 
surrounding  Jimmy  Grayson,  and  by  the  way  they 
bobbed  back  and  forth  he  knew  that  the  enthusiasm 
was  boiling. 

He  went  down  the  far  side  of  the  swell,  passed  a 
clump  of  bushes,  and  came  face  to  face  with  Sylvia 
Morgan.  She,  too,  leaving  the  speech,  had  been 
walking,  and  the  color  of  her  face  was  deepened  by 
the  exercise  and  the  crisp,  bracing  air.  It  had  given 
her,  also,  an  obvious  exhilaration,  probably  physical, 
that  Harley  had  not  seen  before  in  a  long  time,  and 
her  smile  was  of  pure  welcoming  joy. 

Harley's  was  an  answering  smile,  but  his  heart 
was  full  of  a  longing  and  an  anger  equally  fierce. 
Never  had  she  seemed  to  him  more  to  be  desired  than 
on  that  morning;  tall,  straight,  and  young,  instinct 
with  the  life  and  strength  of  the  great  upland  reaches 
upon  which  she  lived,  her  pure  soul  looking  out  of 
her  pure  eyes,  she  was  a  woman  to  be  won  by  the 
man  to  whom  her  love  was  given,  and  he  rebelled 
because  he  did  not  have  the  right.  Temptation  was 
strong  within  him,  and  he  had  excuse. 

"Speeches,  however  good,  do  not  appeal  to  you 
to-day?"  he  said. 

373 


THE    CANDIDATE 

•s* 

"No,  I  prefer  the  mountains." 

She  pointed  to  the  line  of  peaks  that  formed  a 
border  of  darker  blue  on  the  horizon. 

"So  do  I,"  said  Harley,  with  emphasis,  but  he 
meant,  at  that  moment,  that  he  was  glad  to  be  alone 
with  her. 

"Since  chance  has  brought  us  together,"  he  said, 
"why  should  we  not  continue  in  this  way?" 

They  walked  on,  and  he  was  very  close  to  her, 
so  close  that  when  a  wanton  wind  caught  a  stray 
ringlet  of  her  hair  it  brushed  lightly  against  his 
cheek.  Faint  and  fleeting  as  was  the  touch,  every 
nerve  thrilled.  He  said  fiercely  to  himself  that  she 
was  his  and  should  remain  his. 

They  came  to  a  little  brook,  a  stream  of  ice-cold 
water  flowing  down  from  the  distant  mountains,  and 
he  helped  her  across,  although  a  single  step  would 
have  carried  her  from  bank  to  bank.  Then,  too,  he 
held  her  hand  in  his  longer  than  the  case  warranted, 
and  again  he  tingled.  He  said  nothing,  nor  did  she, 
but  she  glanced  at  him  and  she  was  a  little  afraid; 
his  lips  were  closed  in  the  firm  fashion  that  she  knew, 
and  his  eyes  were  on  the  distant  mountains.  Behind 
them  came  a  broad  shadow,  but  neither  looked  back. 

Jimmy  Grayson  was  a  great  man,  but  Caesar  and 
his  fortunes  were  now  completely  forgotten  by  both 
Harley  and  Sylvia;  each  was  thinking  only  of  the 
other,  and  though  they  were  still  silent,  they  wan 
dered  on  and  on,  Sylvia  content  that  Harley  was  by 
her  side,  and  Harley  happy  to  feel  her  so  near  that 
her  hair  blown  in  the  wind  had  touched  his  face. 
Had  they  looked  back  they  would  have  seen  the 
shadow  come  a  little  nearer  and  raise  its  arm  in  an 
angry  gesture.  The  town  sank  behind  the  swells, 
and  before  lay  only  a  brown  expanse  of  country  that 

374 


THE    CANDIDATE 

rolled  away  with  unbroken  monotony.  A  slight  gray 
ish  tint,  as  of  a  mist,  crept  into  the  glittering  blue 
of  the  sky,  but  Harley  and  Sylvia  did  not  notice  it. 

Sylvia  felt,  in  a  way,  as  if  she  were  in  a  state  of 
suspended  animation.  The  world  had  paused  for  a 
moment,  and  for  that  reason  she  knew  that  fate 
was  impending;  she,  too,  felt  a  thrill  running  through 
every  nerve,  and  she  felt  the  presence,  so  near  her, 
of  the  man  whom  she  loved,  and  would  always  love. 
He  was  master  to-day,  and  she  knew  that  she  would 
do  whatever  he  should  ask  her;  all  her  resolves,  all 
the  long  course  of  strengthening  through  which  she 
might  put  herself  would  melt  away  in  the  heat  of 
an  emotion  that  was  too  strong  for  her;  if  he  said 
that  they  should  slip  back  to  the  town,  take  a  train 
to  the  next  station  and  get  married  there,  forgetful 
of  her  promise,  "King"  Plummer,  the  campaign, 
her  uncle,  and  everything  else,  she  would  go  with 
him.  But  she  remembered  to  pray  that  he  would 
not  say  it. 

Harley  still  did  not  speak.  He,  too,  was  struggling 
with  himself,  and  saying,  over  and  over  under  his 
breath,  that  he  should  remember  his  duty.  Sylvia 
glanced  at  him  covertly  from  time  to  time,  and, 
while  she  yet  felt  a  little  fear,  she  admired  the  firm 
curve  of  his  chin  and  the  clear  cut  of  his  face.  They 
came  at  last  to  a  clump  of  dwarfed  trees,  sheltered 
between  the  swells,  and  they  stopped. 

"Sylvia,"  said  Harley,  "I  felt  only  joy  when  I 
met  you,  but  I  am  sorry  now  that  the  chance  brought 
us  together  this  time,  because  it  is  a  greater  grief  to 
see  you  go.  I  thought  once  that  we  might  be  to 
gether  always,  because  I  know  that  you  are  mine, 
mine  in  spirit  at  least,  no  matter  to  whom  the  law 
may  give  you,  but  now — " 


THE    CANDIDATE 

He  broke  off  and  looked  at  her  with  longing. 

"  It  is  better  that  I  should  leave  you  and  go  alone," 
she  said. 

She  held  out  her  hand. 

"This  is  a  good-bye,"  she  said. 

"But  it  shall  not  be  so  cold  a  one!"  he  exclaimed. 

He  put  his  arms  around  her,  and  kissed  her  full 
upon  the  lips. 

"Oh,  John!"  she  cried,  and  when  he  released  her 
she  ran  back  upon  their  path,  her  face  very  red, 
although  she  was  in  no  wise  angry  with  him.  Har- 
ley  walked  on,  and  he  did  not  raise  his  head  until 
the  shadow  that  followed  them  stood  across  his  way. 
Then,  when  he  looked  up,  he  found  himself  gazing 
into  the  muzzle  of  a  very  large  revolver,  held  by  a 
large,  brown  hand.  Behind  the  hand,  and  lowering 
at  him,  was  the  inflamed  and  determined  face  of 
"King"  Plummer. 

In  this  crisis  neither  of  the  two  wasted  words. 
Each  was  a  man  of  action,  and  each  knew  that  long 
speech  was  vanity  of  vanities. 

Harley  was  pale;  life  was  sweet,  never  sweeter  than 
when  it  seemed  to  be  leaving,  but  he  did  not  flinch. 

"You  have  stolen  her  from  me,"  said  the  "King." 
"I  saw  what  you  did  there;  you  ought  to  be  willing 
to  pay  the  price." 

"I  object  to  the  word  'stolen,'"  said  Harley,  calm 
ly.  "The  love  of  Sylvia  Morgan  is  not  a  thing  that 
could  be  stolen  by  anybody." 

"Words  differ,  but  acts  don't.  I've  been  a  bor 
der  man,  and  I've  got  to  do  things  in  the  border  way." 

"One  of  which  is  to  come  armed  upon  an  unarmed 
man?" 

Harley  saw  the  "King"  flinch,  but  the  finger  did 
not  leave  the  trigger. 

376 


THE    CANDIDATE 

"  You  took  from  me  when  I  wasn't  looking  all  that 
I  love  best,  and  I'll  take  from  you  all  I  can." 

The  red  face  of  "King"  Plummer  suddenly  turned 
gray,  and  Harley  saw  it,  but  he  did  not  see  what 
caused  it.  There  was  the  light,  swift  tread  of  foot 
steps  behind  him,  a  warm  breath  upon  his  face,  and 
then  Sylvia's  arms  were  around  his  neck  and  she  was 
upon  his  breast. 

"Shoot  if  you  want  to,"  she  said  to  the  "King," 
"but  your  bullet  will  strike  me  first." 

Her  eyes,  for  the  first  time  in  her  life,  sparkled 
defiance  at  him,  and  their  gaze  stabbed  the  "King" 
to  the  heart. 

Harley  strove  to  put  her  aside,  but  she  clung  to 
him  with  strong,  young  arms. 

The  "  King's"  face,  pale  before,  now  became  white. 
It  was,  perhaps,  the  first  time  in  his  life  that  all 
the  blood  had  left  it,  and  it  showed  the  power  of 
this  new  and  sudden  emotion.  "King"  Plummer, 
in  a  flash,  saw  many  things.  The  finger  that  lay 
upon  the  trigger  trembled,  and  then,  with  a  cry  of 
fear,  this  man  who  feared  no  other  man  threw  his 
pistol  to  the  earth. 

"My  God,  Sylvia!"  he  exclaimed.  "What  do  you 
think  I  am?" 

"Not  a  murderer!" 

"  No,  I  am  not;  but  I  came  very  near  to  being  one."' 

He  looked  at  the  two,  in  each  other's  arms  as  it 
were,  and  turned  away,  leaving  the  pistol  upon  the 
ground.  "King"  Plummer  had  seen  enough  for  one 
day. 

They  watched  him  until  the  broad  back  passed 
over  a  swell  and  was  lost.  Then  Sylvia,  blushing, 
remembered,  and  took  her  arms  from  Harley's  neck. 

"You  have  saved  my  life,"  said  Harley, 
377      ' 


"I  do  not  think  that  he  would  have  fired." 

"You  have  saved  it,  anyhow.  Now  it  is  yours, 
and  you  must  take  it.  He  cannot  claim  you  after 
this." 

The  blush  became  brilliant. 

"He  has  not  given  me  up.     He  has  not  said  so." 

"But  he  will  give  you  up.  He  shall.  You  are 
mine  now.  Come!" 

He  took  her  unresisting  hand  in  his,  and  again  they 
walked  side  by  side,  so  close  that  the  strong  wind 
once  more  brushed  the  little  ringlet  against  his  cheek. 

It  is  a  peculiarity  of  Grafton  that  the  low  swells 
around  it,  rolling  away  towards  the  mountains,  look 
just  alike  everywhere.  One  has  to  be  a  resident,  and 
an  old-timer  at  that,  to  be  able  to  tell  one  from  an 
other.  Harley  and  Sylvia,  hand-in-hand,  had  little 
thought  of  such  things  as  these,  nor  were  they  anx 
ious  to  reach  Grafton  quickly ;  yet  the  time  when  they 
must  be  there  would  come,  and  Harley  at  last  in 
terrupted  a  pleasanter  occupation  by  exclaiming: 

"  Why,  where  is  Grafton  ?  We  should  have  reached 
it  long  ago!"  , 

Sylvia  saw  only  the  low  swells,  rolling  away,  one 
after  the  other;  there  was  no  glimpse  of  a  house,  no 
smoke  on  the  horizon  to  tell  where  the  village  had 
hid  itself  so  suddenly.  Around  them  were  the  low 
ridges,  and  afar  the  circle  of  blue  mountains.  Save 
for  themselves,  it  seemed  a  lone  and  desolate  world. 
Sylvia  became  white;  she  knew  their  situation  better 
than  Harley. 

"We  have  lost  the  town!  We  mistook  the  direc 
tion!"  she  said. 

"We  can  easily  find  it  again;  it  must  be  there." 

He  pointed  in  the  direction  in  which  he  thought 
Grafton  lay,  and  continued: 

378 


"It  will  merely  make  our  walk  back  to  town  the 
longer,  and  that  is  what  I  like." 

But  she,  who  had  lived  her  life  on  the  plains  and 
in  the  mountains,  was  not  so  sure.  She  knew  that 
they  had  walked  far,  because  not  even  the  smoke  of 
Grafton  could  be  seen  now.  Yet  he  was  with  her. 

"Suppose  we  try  that  direction,"  she  assented. 

"And  if  it  isn't  right,  we  will  try  another;  our 
train  stays  at  Grafton  all  day." 

They  walked  on,  saying  to  each  other  the  little 
things  that  mean  nothing  to  others,  but  which  lovers 
love,  and  Grafton  yet  lay  hidden  in  its  place  between 
the  swells.  The  skies,  changing  now  from  a  bright 
to  a  steely  gray,  were  unmarred  by  a  single  wisp  of 
smoke. 

Harley  felt  at  last  an  uneasiness  which  increased 
gradually  as  they  went  on;  the  country  was  pro- 
vokingly  monotonous,  one  swell  was  like  another, 
and  the  dips  between  were  just  the  same;  there  were 
patches  of  brown  grass  eaten  down  by  cattle,  but 
mostly  the  soil  was  bare;  it  seemed  to  Harley,  at 
that  moment,  a  weary  and  ugly  land,  but  it  set  off 
the  star  in  the  midst  of  it — Sylvia — like  a  diamond 
in  the  dust.  He  looked  up;  the  mountains,  before 
blue  and  distinct  in  the  clear  sky,  were  now  gray  and 
vague. 

"  We  must  have  walked  fast  and  far,"  he  said.  "  Look 
how  that  range  of  mountains  has  moved  away." 

Sylvia  looked,  and  her  face  whitened  again. 

"It  is  not  distance,  John,"  she  said.  "It  is  a 
mist.  See,  the  clouds  are  coming!" 

The  mountains  moved  farther  away  and  became 
shadowy;  the  steel-gray  of  the  skies  darkened;  up 
from  the  southwest  rolled  ugly  brown  clouds ;  there 
was  a  rush  of  chill  air. 

379 


THE    CANDIDATE 

Harley  understood  all,  and  a  shiver  passed  over 
him.  But  his  fear  was  for  her,  not  for  himself. 

"It  is  going  to  snow,"  said  Sylvia. 

"And  we  are  lost  in  this  desert;  it  was  I,  too,  who 
brought  you  here,"  said  Harley. 

She  looked  up  into  his  eyes,  and  her  face  was  not 
pale. 

"We  are  together,"  she  said. 

He  bent  his  head  and  kissed  her,  for  the  second 
time  that  day. 

"  You  are  the  bravest  woman  in  the  world,  Sylvia," 
he  said.  "Now  we  live  or  die  together,  and  we  are 
not  afraid." 

"We  are  not  afraid." 

He  put  his  arm  around  her  waist,  and  she  did  not 
resist.  Both  expected  to  die,  and  they  felt  that  they 
belonged  to  each  other  for  eternity.  A  strange,  spir 
itual  exaltation  possessed  them ;  the  world  about  them 
was  unreal  now — they  two  were  all  that  was  real. 

"The  snow  comes,  dearest,"  she  said. 

Up  from  the  southwest  the  ugly  brown  clouds  were 
still  rolling,  and  the  sky  above  them  still  darkened; 
the  mountains  were  gone  in  the  mist,  the  chill  wind 
strengthened  and  shrieked  over  the  plain.  Harley 
kept  his  arm  around  Sylvia's  waist,  and  drew  her 
more  closely  to  him  that  he  might  shelter  her. 

"Let  the  snow  come,"  he  said. 

Great  white  flakes,  borne  upon  the  edge  of  the 
wind,  fell  damp  upon  their  faces,  and  suddenly  the 
air  was  rilled  with  them  as  they  came  in  blinding 
clouds;  the  wind  ceased  to  shriek  and  died,  and  the 
brown  clouds,  now  fused  into  one  mass  that  covered 
all  the  heavens,  opened  and  let  down  the  snow  in 
unbroken  volume. 

"We  must  go  on,  sweetheart,"  said  Harley,  rous- 
380 


THE    CANDIDATE 

ing  himself.  "To  stand  here  is  death.  We  may  find 
some  kind  of  shelter  if  we  go;  there  is  none  in  this 
place." 

They  walked  on,  their  heads  bent  a  little,  as  the 
snow  was  coming  straight  down.  They  could  not  see 
twenty  yards  before  them  through  the  white  cloud, 
and  Harley  was  scarcely  conscious  whether  they 
climbed  the  swells  or  descended  into  the  dips  be 
tween. 

Sylvia  covered  her  head  with  a  small  shawl  that 
she  wore.  Harley  wanted  to  take  off  his  coat  and 
wrap  it  around  her,  but  she  would  not  let  him. 

"I  am  not  cold,"  she  said;  "I  think  it  is  the  walk 
ing  that  keeps  me  warm." 

It  was  partly  that,  but  it  was  more  the  presence  of 
Harley  and  the  state  of  spiritual  exaltation  in  which 
they  remained.  Both  took  it  as  a  matter  of  course 
that  they  were  to  die  in  a  few  hours,  but  they  had  no 
fear  of  this  death,  and  it  was  not  even  worth  while  to 
talk  or  think  of  it.  Harley  had  spoken  merely  through 
habit  and  instinct  of  moving  on  lest  they  die,  and  it 
was  these  same  unconscious  motives  that  made  them 
struggle,  although  they  took  no  interest  in  their  own 
efforts. 

"We  may  come  to  a  clump  of  trees,"  said  Sylvia, 
"or  to  a  hollow  in  a  rocky  hill-side;  that  happens 
sometimes  in  this  part  of  the  Dakotas." 

"Maybe  we  shall,"  said  Harley,  but  he  thought  no 
more  about  it. 

The  wind  rose  again  and  swept  over  the  plain  with 
a  shriek  and  a  howl.  Columns  and  cones  of  snow 
were  whirled  past  them  and  over  them ;  wind  and  snow 
together  made  it  harder  for  them  to  keep  their  feet. 

"  If  we  don't  find  that  hollow  soon,  we  won't  need 
it,"  said  Harley. 


THE    CANDIDATE 

"No,"  she  said. 

She  was  very  close  to  him,  and  when  she  looked 
up  he  could  see  a  smile  on  her  face. 

"Death  is  not  terrible,"  she  said. 

"Not  with  you." 

The  shriek  of  the  wind  had  now  become  a  moan 
like  the  moan  of  a  desolate  world.  They  came  to 
two  or  three  dwarfed  trees  growing  close  to  one  an 
other,  but  they  gave  no  shelter,  and,  Harley  being 
in  dread  lest  branches  should  be  blown  off  and  against 
Sylvia,  they  went  on. 

"What  will  they  think  has  become  of  us?"  said 
Sylvia. 

But  the  only  thought  it  brought  into  Harley's 
mind  at  that  moment  was  the  interruption  it  would 
cause  to  the  campaign.  He  was  sorry  for  Jimmy 
Grayson.  He  felt  that  the  girl's  step  was  grow 
ing  less  steady.  Obviously  she  was  becoming 
weaker. 

"Lean  against  me,"  he  said;  "I  am  strong  enough 
for  both." 

She  said  nothing,  but  he  felt  her  shoulder  press 
more  heavily  against  him.  He  drew  his  hat-brim 
down  that  he  might  keep  the  whirling  flakes  from 
his  eyes,  and  staggered  blindly  forward.  His  knee 
struck  against  something  hard,  and,  putting  out  his 
hand,  he  touched  stone  and  earth. 

"Here  is  a  hill,"  he  said,  without  joy,  and  he 
uncovered  his  eyes  again  to  seek  shelter.  He  did 
not  find  it  there,  but  farther  on,  in  another  hill,  was 
a  rocky  alcove  that  in  earlier  days  had  been  the  den 
of  some  wild  animal.  It  was  carpeted  with  old  dead 
leaves,  and  it  faced  the  east,  while  the  wind  and  the 
snow  came  from  the  southwest.  It  was  only  a  hol 
low,  running  back  three  or  four  feet,  and  one  must 

38* 


THE   CANDIDATE 

crouch  to  enter;  but  except  near  the  door  there  was 
no  snow  in  it,  and  the  storm  drove  by  in  vain. 

"Here  is  our  house,  Sylvia,"  exclaimed  Harley, 
with  a  strong  ring  in  his  voice,  and  he  drew  her  in. 
He  raked  up  the  old,  musty,  dead  leaves  in  a  heap, 
and  made  her  sit  upon  them.  He  was  the  man  now, 
the  masculine  animal  who  ruled,  and  she  obeyed 
without  protest. 

"Hark  to  the  storm!  How  the  wind  whistles!" 
he  said. 

Pyramids  and  columns  of  snow  whirled  by  the 
mouth  of  their  little  hollow,  and  they  crouched  close 
together.  Out  upon  the  plain  the  shriek  of  the  wind 
was  weird  and  unearthly.  Now  and  then  some  blast, 
fiercer  and  more  tortuous  than  the  rest,  drove  a 
fringe  of  snow  so  far  into  the  hollow  that  it  fell  a 
wet  skim  across  their  faces. 

Sylvia  did  not  move  or  speak  for  a  long  time,  and 
when  Harley  looked  out  again  the  snow  was  thinner 
but  the  wind  was  still  high,  and  it  was  growing  much 
colder.  The  blast  lashed  his  face  with  a  whip  of  ice. 

He  turned  back  in  alarm,  and  took  Sylvia's  hand 
in  his.  It  was  cold,  and  it  seemed  to  him  that  the 
blood  in  it  had  ceased  to  run. 

"Sylvia!  Sylvia!"  he  cried  in  fear,  and  not  know 
ing  what  else  to  say.  "What  is  the  matter?" 

"This,  I  think,  is  death,"  she  replied,  in  sleepy 
content. 

It  was  dark  in  the  hollow,  whether  the  darkness 
of  coming  night  or  the  darkness  of  the  storm  Harley 
did  not  know  nor  care.  He  could  not  see  her  face, 
but  he  touched  it;  it,  too,  was  cold. 

He  felt  a  pang  of  agony.  When  both  expected  to 
die  he  had  neither  fear  nor  sorrow;  now  she  was 
about  to  die  alone  and  leave  him! 

383 


THE    CANDIDATE 

"Sylvia!  Sylvia!"  he  cried.  "It  is  not  death! 
You  cannot  go!" 

He  rubbed  her  hands  violently,  and  even  her 
cheeks.  He  called  to  her  over  and  over  again,  and 
she  awoke  from  her  numbing  torpor. 

"It  was  beginning  to  be  like  an  easy  sleep,"  she 
said. 

"That  is  what  we  must  fight,"  said  Harley. 

He  brushed  up  all  the  leaves  at  the  mouth  of  the 
hollow  as  a  sort  of  barrier,  and  he  believed  that  it 
gave  help.  Then  he  sat  down  on  a  small  ledge  of 
stone  and  leaned  against  the  wall. 

"Sylvia,"  he  said,  "I  want  you  to  live,  and  you 
cannot  live  if  this  cold  creeps  into  your  body  again. 
Sit  here." 

She  hesitated,  and  in  the  darkness  he  did  not  see 
her  blush. 

"Why  should  you  not?     It  may  be  our  last  day." 

He  drew  her  down  upon  his  knees,  then  closer  to 
him,  and  put  his  arms  around  her.  Presently  he 
could  feel  her  face  against  his,  and  it  was  cold  no 
longer.  Neither  spoke  nor  moved,  but  Harley  could 
feel  that  she  was  warm,  and  he  could  hear  her  soft, 
regular  breathing.  After  a  while  he  stirred  a  little, 
and  he  found  that  she  was  asleep.  Her  hands  and 
face  were  still  warm.  He  did  not  move  again.  She 
spoke  once  in  her  sleep,  and  all  that  she  said  was  his 
name. 

Outside  the  plain  was  a  vast  sheet  of  snow,  over 
which  the  cold  wind  moaned,  and  out  of  the  east  the 
night  was  coming. 


WHEN  "King"  Plummet  left  Harley  and  Sylvia 
on  the  plain,  he  strode  blindly  forward,  his 
heart  filled  with  rage,  grief,  and  self-accusation. 
He  said  aloud:  "William  Plummer,  you  are  fifty 
years  old,  and  you  have  made  of  yourself  the  damned 
est  fool  in  the  whole  Northwest!" 

Hitherto  he  had  always  held  the  belief  that  if 
Harley  were  away  she  would  soon  forget  him  and 
would  be  happy  as  his  wife.  Now  he  knew  that  this 
could  never  come  to  pass,  and  the  truth  filled  him 
with  dismay. 

He  had  ridden  across  country  with  no  knowledge 
of  Mr.  Grayson's  presence  in  Grafton  until  he  was 
very  near  the  place;  then,  when  he  heard  of  it,  he 
was  overwhelmed  with  a  great  desire  to  see  these 
people  and  bid  them  defiance.  He  was  a  man  who 
fought  his  enemies,  and  he  would  show  them  what 
he  could  do.  So  he  rode  into  Grafton,  and  slipped 
quietly  into  a  saloon  to  get  a  tonic.  He  was  a 
border  man  bred  in  border  ways,  and  usually  liquor 
would  have  had  no  effect  on  him,  but  to  -  day 
it  was  fire  to  a  brain  already  on  fire.  All  his  griev 
ances  now  became  great  wrongs — he  was  an  injured 
man  whom  the  world  persecuted;  Grayson,  for  whom 
he  had  done  so  much  in  political  life,  had  betrayed 
him;  the  girl  whom  he  was  going  to  marry  had  be- 
*s  385 


THE    CANDIDATE 

trayed  him,  too,  and  this  young  Eastern  slip,  Harley, 
was  surely  laughing  at  him. 

These  thoughts  were  intolerable  to  the  "King," 
who  had  hitherto  been  victorious  always,  and  now 
his  rage  centred  on  Harley;  he  saw  Harley  every 
where,  at  every  point  of  the  compass  wherever  he 
looked,  and  when  he  came  out  of  the  saloon  and 
went  down  the  deserted  street  he  saw  Harley  in 
reality,  strolling  along  absently,  his  eyes  upon  the 
ground.  He  thought  first  that  the  correspondent 
was  on  his  way  to  join  the  crowd  around  the  speak 
er's  stand,  but  he  soon  perceived  that  he  was  going 
in  another  direction.  It  was  "King"  Plummer's 
first  impulse — there  was  still  liquid  fire  in  his  veins 
— to  overtake  Harley  and  demand  the  only  kind  of 
satisfaction  that  such  a  man  as  he  should  have.  Then 
he  wished  to  see  where  Harley  was  going,  because 
he  had  a  premonition — false  in  this  case,  the  meet 
ing  was  by  accident — that  he  was  on  his  way  to 
Sylvia;  so  he  decided  to  follow  as  an  animal  stalks 
its  game.  Only  the  most  powerful  emotion  con 
joined  with  other  circumstances  could  have  made  the 
"  King"  do  such  a  thing,  as  his  nature  was  essentially 
open,  and  he  loved  open  methods.  Yet  he  trailed  his 
enemy  with  the  skill  and  cunning  of  an  Indian. 

He  saw  Harley  and  Sylvia  meet,  and  all  his  sus 
picions  were  confirmed.  Again  he  felt  a  fierce  im 
pulse,  and  it  was  to  rush  upon  the  guilty  pair,  but 
he  restrained  it  and  still  followed.  His  perceptions 
were  trained  to  other  things,  but  he  was  in  no  danger 
of  being  seen  by  them ;  they  were  too  much  absorbed 
in  each  other,  and  all  the  world  passed  by  them  un 
noticed.  The  "King,"  though  a  rough,  blunt  man, 
saw  this,  and  it  made  the  fire  in  him  burn  the  hotter. 

He  saw  them  stop  at  last,  he  saw  Harley  kiss 
386 


THE    CANDIDATE 

Sylvia,  and  then  he  saw  the  girl  turn  away.  He 
waited  until  he  saw  Sylvia  pass  over  the  swell,  and 
then  he  took  his  opportunity.  Whether  he  would 
have  fired  if  Sylvia  had  not  come  he  could  not  say 
to  himself  afterwards  in  his  cooler  moments.  Re 
morse  upon  this  point  tortured  him  for  some  time. 

When  he  turned  away  he  saw  nothing.  He  was 
agitated  by  the  powerful  truth  that  Sylvia  preferred 
death  with  Harley  to  life  with  him,  and  all  his  views 
were  inward.  He  still  did  not  know  what  he  would 
do,  but  there  was  much  of  a  moving  nature  to  him 
in  the  scene  that  he  left.  He  had  never  before  seen 
such  a  look  on  a  woman's  face  as  that  on  Sylvia's 
when  she  threw  herself  upon  Harley's  breast  and 
defied  his  bullet ;  it  was  beautiful  and  wonderfully  pa 
thetic,  and  something  like  a  sob  came  from  the  burly 
"King."  Harley,  too,  had  borne  himself  like  a  man; 
there  was  no  fear  in  the  face  of  the  Eastern  youth 
when  he  looked  into  the  muzzle  of  the  pistol  that 
threatened  instant  death;  "King"  Plummer  remem 
bered  more  than  once  in  the  early  days  when  he 
had  been  covered  by  the  levelled  weapon  of  an  enemy, 
and  he  knew  how  hard  it  was  in  such  a  case  to  con 
trol  one's  nerves  and  keep  steady.  He  could  not 
help  respecting  a  courage  fully  the  equal  of  his  own. 

He  wandered  on  in  a  series  of  circles  that  did  not 
take  him  far,  and  in  a  half-hour  he  stopped  at  the 
crest  of  a  swell  higher  than  the  rest.  He  saw  Sylvia 
and  Harley  far  away — but  he  knew  them  well — 
walking  side  by  side.  "  Well,  I  suppose  they  have 
the  right!"  he  said,  moodily.  The  fire  within  him 
was  dying  down,  but  he  added;  "I'll  be  damned  if  I 
look  at  them  making  love." 

The  "King"  had  the  habits  bred  by  long  years  of 
necessity  and  precaution,  and  unless  the  distracting 

387 


THE    CANDIDATE 

circumstances  were  very  powerful  he  was  always  a 
keen  observer  of  weather  and  locality.  Now  the  fire 
was  low,  but  he  was  almost  at  the  edge  of  the  town 
before  his  blood  became  normal  and  cool.  Then  he 
looked  about.  A  half-mile  away  he  saw  a  mass  of 
heads,  sometimes  rising  and  falling,  and  a  faint  echo 
of  cheers  came  to  him.  He  knew  that  the  candidate 
was  still  speaking,  and  he  smiled  rather  sourly.  Then 
he  was  conscious  that  the  sunshine  was  not  so  brill 
iant,  and  there  was  a  feeling  of  chill  damp  in  the 
wind  that  came  up  from  the  southwest. 

The  "King"  glanced  up  at  the  sky;  it  had  turned 
a  steely  gray,  and  ugly  brown  clouds  were  coming  up 
over  the  rim  of  the  southwestern  horizon.  "There's 
going  to  be  an  early  snow,"  he  said,  and  for  the  mo 
ment  the  matter  gave  him  no  further  concern.  Then 
Sylvia  and  Harley  suddenly  shot  up  and  filled  his 
whole  horizon.  He  had  seen  them  far  from  where 
he  stood,  and  they  were  going  directly  away  from  the 
town,  not  towards  it!  And  one  was  a  girl  and  the 
other  a  tenderfoot! 

Now  Harley  disappeared  from  the  "King's" 
horizon  as  suddenly  as  he  had  come  into  it,  and  the 
solitary  figure  of  Sylvia  filled  all  its  space.  She  was 
not  a  woman  now,  but  the  desolate  little  girl  whom 
he  had  found  alone  in  the  mountains,  vainly  trying 
to  bury  her  massacred  dead,  and  whom  he  had  car 
ried  away  on  his  saddle-bow.  All  the  long  years  of 
protection  and  tenderness  that  he  had  given  her 
came  back  to  him;  there  was  only  the  image  of  the 
slim  little  girl  with  flying  curls  who  ran  to  meet  him 
and  who  called  him  "Daddy!" 

That  little  girl  was  lost  out  there  on  the  plain, 
and  as  sure  as  the  sun  had  gone  from  the  heavens  a 
snow-storm  was  coming  fast  on  the  wings  of  the 

388 


THE    CANDIDATE 

southwestern  wind.  He  knew,  and  his  heart  was 
filled  with  grief  and  despair ;  no  rage  was  left  there ; 
that  fire  had  burned  out  completely,  and  it  seemed 
to  the  "King"  that  it  never  could  be  lighted  again. 
It  was  wonderful  now  to  him  that  the  flame  could 
ever  have  been  so  fierce.  And  the  boy  Harley 
was  lost,  too.  Mr.  Plummer  again  remembered, 
and  with  a  certain  admiration,  how  brave  Harley  had 
been,  and  he  remembered,  too,  that  when  he  first 
saw  him  his  impulse  was  to  like  him  greatly. 

He  ran  back  towards  the  swell  where  he  had  last 
beheld  them,  hoping  to  find  them  or  at  least  to  fol 
low  upon  their  traces  before  the  snow  fell  and  hid  the 
trail.  He  was  an  old  frontiersman,  and  with  a  favor 
able  soil  he  might  do  it.  But  long  before  he  reach 
ed  the  swell  the  snow  flew,  and  the  brown  clouds 
and  the  whirling  flakes  together  blotted  out  all  the 
plain,  save  the  little  circle  in  which  he  stood. 

He  raised  his  powerful  voice  and  called  in  tones 
that  carried  far,  "Sylvia!  Sylvia!"  But  no  sound 
came  back  save  the  lonely  cry  of  the  wind  and  the 
soft,  whirring  rush  of  the  snow,  like  the  soft  beat  of 
wings.  The  "King"  was  a  brave  and  sanguine  man, 
physically  and  mentally  disposed  to  hope,  but  his 
heart  dropped  like  lead  in  water.  He  saw  the  slim 
little  girl,  with  flying  brown  hair,  dead  and  cold  in 
the  snow.  Then  his  courage  came  back,  and  with 
it  all  his  mental  coolness.  He  did  not  seek  to  rush 
after  them,  floundering  here  and  there  in  the  semi- 
darkness  and  calling  vainly,  but  hurried  back  to  the 
town. 

The  people  had  just  returned  from  the  candidate's 
speech,  and  were  crowding  into  the  lobby  of  the 
hotel  to  shake  Mr.  Grayson's  hand  and  to  tell  him 
that  he  would  win  by  a  "million  majority."  The 

389 


candidate  was  enduring  this  ordeal  with  his  usual 
good-nature  and  grace,  although  the  crowded  room 
was  hot  and  close,  and  the  odor  of  steaming  boots 
arose. 

Into  this  packed  mass  of  human  beings  "King" 
Plummer  burst  like  a  bomb.  "Help!  All  of  you!" 
he  cried,  and  his  voice  cracked  like  a  rifle.  "They 
are  lost  out  on  the  plain  in  the  storm,  and  they  were 
wandering  away  from  the  town!  Miss  Morgan! 
Sylvia!  My  child!  And  the  young  man,  Harley!" 

There  was  no  mistaking  the  "King's"  meaning. 
Here  was  a  mountain  man,  one  who  knew  of  what 
he  was  talking,  one  who  would  raise  no  false  alarm. 
Both  grief  and  command  were  in  his  voice,  and  the 
Dakotans  responded  upon  the  instant;  they  knew 
Sylvia,  too — her  fresh,  young  beauty,  coming  into  so 
small  a  town,  was  noticed  at  once.  To  the  last  man 
they  went  out  into  the  storm  to  the  rescue ;  and  there 
were  many  women  who  were  willing,  too. 

The  candidate  seized  Mr.  Plummer's  arm  in  a 
fierce  grasp. 

"Do  you  mean  to  say  that  Sylvia  and  Harley  are 
lost  in  that?"  he  cried,  and  he  pointed  into  the  mass 
of  driving  snow. 

"Ay,  they  are  there,"  said  the  "King,"  "but  we 
will  find  them." 

"We  will  find  them,"  echoed  Jimmy  Grayson,  and, 
though  they  strove  to  make  him  stay  at  the  hotel, 
he  drew  his  overcoat  about  his  ears  and  was  by  his 
side  as  "King"  Plummer  led  the  way.  Hobart, 
Blaisdell,  even  old  Tremaine,  and  Churchill  as  well, 
were  there,  too. 

They  knew  that  Sylvia  and  Harley  were  some 
where  north  of  the  town,  and,  dividing  into  groups, 
five  or  six  to  a  group,  they  spread  out  to  a  great 

39P 


THE   CANDIDATE 

distance.  They  carried  whiskey  for  warmth,  and 
lanterns  with  which  to  signal  to  each  other,  and  for 
guidance  in  the  night  that  might  come  before  they 
returned.  In  the  twilight  of  the  storm  these  lan 
terns  twinkled  dimly. 

The  "King"  himself  carried  a  lantern,  and  Jimmy 
Grayson,  by  his  side,  could  read  his  face.  Mr. 
Plummer  had  not  told  him  a  word,  but  he  could 
guess  the  story.  He  had  come  upon  them,  there  was 
a  violent  scene  of  some  kind,  and  now  the  "King," 
with  death  threatening  "his  little  girl,"  was  stricken 
with  remorse.  All  the  candidate's  anger  against 
Mr.  Plummer  was  gone,  melted  away  suddenly — and 
he  saw  that  the  "King's"  wrath  against  himself  was 
gone  the  same  way.  Now  he  felt  only  pity  for  the 
stricken  man. 

The  great  line  of  men  moved  across  the  plain  tow 
ards  the  north,  calling  to  each  other  now  and  then 
and  waving  the  dim  lanterns.  Jimmy  Grayson  lis 
tened  for  the  welcome  cry  that  the  lost  had  been 
found,  but  it  did  not  come.  The  "King"  did  not 
speak  save  to  give  orders — he  had  naturally  assumed 
command  of  the  relief  party,  and  his  position  was 
not  disputed. 

They  advanced  far  northward,  and  they  noticed 
with  increased  alarm  the  thickening  of  the  storm. 
Whirlwinds  of  snow  beat  in  their  faces.  Jimmy 
Grayson  once  heard  the  big,  burly  man  by  his  side 
say,  in  a  kind  of  sobbing  whisper,  "Oh,  my  little 
girl!"  and  he  felt  a  catch  in  his  own  throat. 

Then  he  repeated  the  "King's"  own  words,  "We 
will  find  them." 

"And  alive!"  said  the  "King,"  in  fierce  defiance. 

He  did  not  speak  again  for  a  long  time.  He  seem 
ed  to  become  unconscious  of  the  presence  by  his 

391 


THE   CANDIDATE 

side  of  Jimmy  Grayson,  the  man  whom  in  his  hot 
wrath  he  had  threatened  to  betray.  At  last  he 
turned  his  head  and  said,  as  if  it  were  an  impulse: 

"Mr.  Grayson,  they  said  I  was  going  to  knife  you, 
and  I  meant  to  do  it!  They  tempted  me,  and  I  was 
willing  to  be  tempted  by  them;  but,  by  God!  I  gave 
them  no  promise  and  I  won't.  I  was  your  friend, 
and  I'm  your  friend  again!" 

"A  better  I  never  hope  to  have,"  said  Jimmy 
Grayson,  and  in  the  storm  the  hands  of  the  two  men 
met  in  a  grasp  as  true  as  it  was  strong. 

"We  will  not  speak  of  this  again,"  said  Mr.  Gray- 
son — and  they  never  did.  A  resident  of  Graf  ton, 
Mr.  Harrison,  came  up  to  them,  fighting  his  way 
through  the  snow. 

"Mr.  Plummer,"  he  said,  "there  are  some  rocky 
hills  three  or  four  miles  north  of  here,  with  hollows 
and  sort  of  half-way  caves  here  and  there  in  their 
sides.  It's  barely  possible  that  Mr.  Harley  and  Miss 
Morgan  have  got  to  one  of  those  places.  I  think  we 
ought  to  go  there  at  once,  because,  because — " 

The  man's  voice  failed. 

"Speak  out,"  said  the  "King,"  "I  can  stand  it." 

"Well,  it's  just  this,  though  I  hate  to  say  it.  It's 
a  sure  thing  that  they've  gone  a  long  distance,  an' 
if  they've  hit  on  one  of  the  hollows  we're  likely  to 
find  'em  alive  if  we  get  there  pretty  soon,  but  if  they 
ain't  in  a  hollow  they'll  be — they'll  be — " 

"They'll  be  dead  when  we  do  find  them.  Take 
us  to  the  hills,  Mr.  Harrison." 

The  man,  lantern  in  hand,  strode  on,  and  with  him 
were  Mr.  Grayson  and  Mr.  Plummer.  Hobart  was 
at  the  candidate's  elbow.  Twilight  was  at  hand 
and  the  darkness  was  increasing,  although  the  snow 
was  thinning.  Hobart,  peering  out  on  the  plain, 

392 


THE   CANDIDATE 

saw  only  the  swells  of  snow  rising  and  falling  like  a 
white  sea,  and  overhead  the  sky  of  sullen  clouds. 
He  marked  the  agony  on  the  faces  of  the  candidate 
and  the  "King,"  and  his  own  heart  was  heavy. 
There  was  no  thrill  over  a  mystery  now;  the  lost 
were  too  dear  to  him. 

"It's  night,"  said  Mr.  Plummer.  In  his  heart  was 
the  fear  that  the  two,  overpowered,  had  fallen  down 
and  slowly  frozen  to  death  under  the  snow,  but  he 
did  not  dare  to  whisper  it  to  others. 

It  was  heavy  work  going  through  the  drifts  and 
keeping  the  right  way  over  a  plain  that  had  the 
similarity  of  the  sea,  but  the  men  did  not  falter. 
Jimmy  Grayson  was  always  looking  into  the  dark 
ness,  striving  to  see  the  darker  line  or  blur  that 
would  mark  the  hills,  but  he  asked  no  questions. 
The  snow  ceased,  and  after  a  while  low,  black  slopes 
appeared  against  the  dusky  horizon. 

"The  hills!"  said  the  candidate,  and  the  Graf  ton 
man  nodded.  They  increased  their  pace  until  they 
were  almost  running.  Neither  Mr.  Grayson  nor  Mr. 
Plummer  knew  it,  but  the  Grafton  man  had  little  hope ; 
he  had  merely  suggested  the  place  as  a  last  chance. 

It  took  them  much  longer  than  they  thought  or 
hoped  to  reach  the  hills,  but  when  they  came  to 
them  they  began  a  rapid  search.  The  "King"  and 
the  candidate  were  still  together,  and  the  former  had 
taken  a  lantern  from  one  of  the  men.  They  had 
been  looking  among  the  hills  for  about  a  quarter  of 
an  hour,  and  they  drew  somewhat  away  from  the 
others.  The  "King"  raised  his  lantern  at  intervals 
and  threw  ribbons  of  light  along  the  white  slopes. 
They  came  to  a  hill  a  little  higher  than  the  rest, 
and  he  raised  the  lantern  again.  It  was  not  a  white 
reflection  that  came,  but  something  misty  and  brown. 

393 


THE    CANDIDATE 

"Dead  leaves!"  cried  the  "King."  "It's  a  cave 
or  a  hollow." 

He  raised  the  lantern  higher,  and  the  light  shone 
directly  in  at  the  opening;  it  shone,  too,  upon  Sylvia's 
face  as  she  lay  asleep  in  Harley's  arms. 

"Babes  in  the  wood!"  muttered  Hobart,  who  had 
come  up  behind  them. 

The  "King"  paused  a  moment.  The  picture  ap 
pealed  to  him,  too,  and  he  saw  then  in  Harley  only 
the  rescuer  of  "his  little  girl."  His  heart  yearned 
over  Harley  also.  Then  he  uttered  a  joyous  shout, 
dropped  his  lantern,  and  seized  Sylvia.  "Daddy," 
she  said,  awakening  and  putting  her  arms  around 
his  neck,  "I've  come  back." 

"God  bless  you,  my  child,  my  daughter!"  he 
said. 

To  Harley  it  was  all  a  dream;  there  was  some 
thing  the  matter  with  him — there  was  a  sort  of  dull, 
unreal  feeling,  and  these  men  that  he  knew  seemed 
to  be  very  far  away.  Nor  did  he  understand  why 
they  pulled  him  out  so  roughly,  rubbed  snow  on  his 
face  and  ears,  and  chafed  his  hands  violently.  After 
wards  he  remembered  hearing  dimly  some  one  say, 
"We're  just  in  time;  he  was  freezing  to  death,"  and 
then  he  wished  they  would  be  gentler.  Fiery  stuff 
was  poured  down  his  throat,  and  he  coughed  and 
struggled,  but  they  had  no  mercy.  Then  they  com 
mitted  the  crowning  outrage — they  took  him  by  the 
arms,  held  him  up  and  made  him  run  back  and  forth 
in  the  snow.  After  that  the  pain  came;  there  were 
strong  needle-pricks  all  through  him,  and  he  heard 
some  one  say  in  a  foolish  tone  of  satisfaction,  "  He's 
coming  around  all  right."  Then  they  poured  more 
fiery  stuff  down  his  throat. 

After  a  while  the  needle  pains  ceased,  and  Harley 
394 


THE    CANDIDATE 

understood  that  they  had  saved  him  from  freezing 
to  death.  He  thought  at  once  of  Sylvia;  there  she 
stood  wrapped  from  chin  to  heel  in  a  great  fur  coat, 
and  she  smiled  at  him. 

It  was  a  slow  but  happy  walk  back  to  Grafton. 
The  "King's"  joyful  shout  had  been  repeated  and 
passed  on  to  all  the  searchers,  and  all  the  lanterns 
had  been  whirled  aloft  in  rejoicing  signal.  Mes 
sengers  were  already  hurrying  on  to  Grafton  with 
the  news. 

Harley  walked  by  the  side  of  Mr.  Grayson,  who 
had  given  his  hand  one  strong  clasp  and  who  had 
said,  "Harley,  it  was  like  finding  a  brother."  Sylvia 
leaned  on  Mr.  Plummer's  arm  because  the  whole  of 
her  strength  had  not  yet  come  back.  "Daddy," 
she  whispered,  "where  did  you  come  from?  We've 
been  waiting  for  you  a  long  time." 

"Something  up  there  must  have  called  me,"  he 
replied,  reverently,  pointing  to  the  heavens,  in  which 
the  new  stars  twinkled.  "Sylvia,"  he  continued, 
"I'm  not  a  fool  any  more.  Forgive  your  old  daddy 
and  you  can  love  the  boy." 

"  Not  unless  you  are  really,  truly,  and  wholly  will 
ing,  daddy." 

"Really,  truly,  and  wholly,  my  little  girl." 

"Now  you  must  tell  him  so,  daddy." 

"I'll  tell  him  so." 

They  were  startled  by  Sylvia  suddenly  stopping, 
throwing  her  arms  around  Mr.  Plummer's  neck,  and 
kissing  him.  But  they  ascribed  it  to  the  hysteria 
natural  in  a  woman  under  such  circumstances. 

The  world  was  still  unreal  to  Harley.  Now  and 
then  the  people  with  whom  he  was  walking  seemed 
very  far  away,  merely  vague  black  shadows  on  the 
white  plain  of  snow ;  all  but  Sylvia,  who  smiled  again 

395 


THE    CANDIDATE 

at  him,  and  who  he  thought  had  drawn  him  back  to 
earth. 

As  they  approached  the  town  the  "King"  gave 
Sylvia  to  her  uncle  and  fell  back  a  little,  until  he  was 
by  the  side  of  Harley. 

"Lad,"  he  said,  and  he  used  the  word  because  he 
felt  that  Harley  was  very  much  younger  than  he, 
"you've  won  her  and  she's  yours;  I'll  give  her  to 
you.  I've  played  the  part  of  father  to  her,  and  it's 
what  I  ought  to  keep  on  playing.  I  see  it  now.  I 
guess  I  keep  a  daughter  and  gain  a  son." 

Harley  looked  squarely  into  his  eyes — the  world 
was  real  now — and  he  saw  the  utmost  sincerity  there. 

"Mr.  Plummer,"  he  said,  "you  are  one  of  God's 
noblemen." 

The  "King's"  hand  and  Harley 's  met  in  a  strong 
and  true  grip,  and  those  who  noticed  thought  it  was 
another  incident  due  wholly  to  the  stress  of  the  night 
and  the  storm. 

When  they  reached  the  town  Mrs.  Grayson  took 
Sylvia  in  her  arms  and  the  others  left  her.  Jimmy 
Grayson  was  to  speak  the  next  day  at  Freeport, 
a  village  a  little  farther  on,  but  that  speech  was 
never  delivered,  and  when  the  Freeport  people 
heard  the  reason  they  made  no  complaint. 

It  was  announced  the  next  morning  that  Mrs. 
Grayson  and  Sylvia  would  leave  at  once  for  the  can 
didate's  home,  as  their  part  of  the  campaign  was  fin 
ished,  but  Harley  found  Sylvia  alone  in  the  little  parlor 
of  the  hotel.  She  was  sitting  by  the  window  looking 
out  at  the  vast  snowy  plains  and  the  dim  blue  moun 
tains  afar,  and  apparently  she  did  not  hear  him  as 
he  entered,  although  he  closed  the  door  behind  him 
with  a  slight  noise.  He  leaned  over  her  and  took 
one  of  her  hands  in  both  of  his. 

396 


THE   CANDIDATE 

"Sylvia,"  he  said,  "won't  you  come  away  from  the 
window  a  moment?" 

He  did  not  wait  for  her  answer,  but  drew  her  away. 

"I  do  not  want  any  one  in  the  street  to  see  me 
kiss  you,"  he  said,  and  he  kissed  her. 

Her  cheeks,  already  red,  grew  redder. 

"You  mustn't  do  that,"  she  said. 

"I  can't  help  myself,"  he  said,  humbly,  and  did 
it  again. 

"I  have  the  right,"  he  added,  "because  you  are 
mine  now.  Last  night  Mr.  Plummer,  of  his  own  free 
will  and  volition,  gave  you  to  me." 

"Good  old  daddy!"  she  murmured. 


XXIII 

ELECTION    NIGHT 

AT  last  came  the  great  day  which  was  to  tell 
whether  their  efforts  were  a  brilliant  success  or 
a  dire  failure — there  was  no  middle  ground — and  the 
special  train  took  them  to  the  small  city  in  which 
the  candidate  lived.  All  the  correspondents  were 
yet  with  him,  as  on  the  eventful  night  following  the 
eventful  day  they  must  tell  the  world  how  Jimmy 
Grayson  looked  and  what  he  said  when  the  wires 
brought  the  news,  good  or  bad.  A  few  faithful  po 
litical  friends  had  been  invited  also  to  stay  with  him 
to  the  end,  and  they  completed  the  group  which 
would  share  the  hospitality  of  the  candidate,  who 
must  smile  and  be  the  good  host  while  the  nation 
was  returning  his  sentence.  Harley  thought  it  a  bit 
ter  ordeal,  but  it  could  not  be  helped. 

After  his  recognition  of  the  great  fact  that  Sylvia 
and  Harley  loved  each  other  and  belonged  to  each 
other,  "King"  Plummer  had  gone  to  Idaho  for  a 
while,  but  he  rejoined  them  on  the  homeward  journey, 
and  his  spirits  seemed  fully  recovered.  He  drifted 
easily  in  conversation  about  her  into  the  old  paternal 
relationship  with  Sylvia  which  became  him  so  well, 
and  he  never  again  alluded  to  that  vain  dream  of 
his  that  he  might  be  something  else.  Moreover, 
after  his  temporary  alienation  he  had  become  a 
more  ardent  Graysonite  than  ever,  and  would  not 

398 


THE    CANDIDATE 

hear  of  anything  except  his  triumphant  election,  de* 
spite  the  immense  power  of  the  forces  allied  against 
him. 

While  they  changed  cars  often  in  the  West,  the 
one  that  bore  them  to  the  candidate's  town  had  been 
their  home  for  several  weeks,  and  even  the  engine  was 
the  same;  thus  the  train  attendants  fell  under  the 
spell  of  Jimmy  Grayson,  and  when  he  walked  down 
their  car-steps  for  the  last  time  they  came  around 
him  in  their  soiled  working  clothes  and  wished  him 
success.  It  was  scarcely  dawn  then,  the  east  was 
not  yet  white,  but  Harley  could  see  sincerity  written 
all  over  their  honest  faces,  and  Jimmy  Grayson,  who 
had  listened  to  ten  thousand  words  of  the  same 
kind,  some  true  and  some  false,  was  much  moved. 

"Sir,"  said  the  engineer,  "at  midnight,  when  the 
tale  is  told,  I  shall  be  three  hundred  miles  from  here, 
but  if  you  are  not  the  man,  then  it  is  a  tale  that  I 
shall  not  care  to  hear." 

"Friends,"  said  Jimmy  Grayson,  gravely,  "I  am 
glad  to  have  your  good  wishes;  the  good  wish  is  the 
father  of  the  good  act,  and  whatever  tale  the  coming 
night  has  to  tell  let  us  endure  it  without  vaunting 
or  complaint." 

As  Mr.  Grayson  and  his  friends  walked  away  in 
the  growing  dawn,  the  railroad  men  raised  a  cheer. 
A  little  later  Harley  heard  the  puff,  puff  of  a  loco 
motive  followed  by  the  grinding  of  wheels,  and  the 
train  which  had  been  their  home  whirled  away  into 
that  West  where  they  had  seen  and  done  so  many 
strange  things.  Harley  tried  to  follow  it  awhile  with 
his  eyes,  because  this  was  like  a  parting  with  a 
human  being,  an  old  and  faithful  friend;  he  felt,  too, 
that  the  most  vivid  chapter  yet  in  his  life  was  closing. 
Unconsciously  he  raised  his  hand  and  waved  good- 

399 


THE    CANDIDATE 

bye;  the  others,  noticing  the  act,  understood  and 
were  silent. 

All  were  under  the  influence  of  the  morning,  which 
was  dawning  slowly  and  ill.  There  are  fine  days  in 
November,  yet  we  cannot  depend  upon  it,  and  now 
the  month  was  in  one  of  its  bad  humors.  An  over 
cast  sun  was  struggling  through  brown,  ominous 
clouds,  and  its  light  was  pale  and  cold.  A  sharp 
wind  whistled  against  the  houses,  yet  shuttered  and 
silent  in  these  early  morning  hours.  The  city  was 
still  asleep,  and  did  not  know  that  the  candidate  had 
come  home  to  hear  his  fate. 

"Is  this  ugly  sky  an  omen  of  ill?"  asked  Churchill, 
who,  despite  his  supercilious  nature  and  the  fact 
that  he  represented  an  opposition  newspaper,  had 
come  at  last  under  the  spell  of  Jimmy  Grayson  and 
was  in  a  way  one  of  the  band. 

"If  it  is  a  gray  sky  for  Mr.  Grayson,  it  is  a  gray 
sky  for  the  other  man,  too,  and  I  draw  no  inference 
from  the  circumstance,"  replied  Harley. 

Nevertheless  there  was  an  oppression  over  the 
whole  group — perhaps  it  was  because  they  were  so 
near  the  end;  and  scarcely  another  word  was  said  as 
they  walked  along  the  silent  street,  each  thinking  of 
the  day  at  hand  and  the  night  to  follow. 

The  candidate  had  offered  all  the  hospitality  of 
his  house,  but  none  would  accept,  not  wishing  to  in 
trude  upon  the  first  freshness  of  his  family  reunion; 
they  intended  to  register  at  the  hotels  and  come  to 
his  home  later  on  for  the  news  of  the  day.  So  they 
stopped  at  a  street  corner,  bade  him  a  short  fare 
well,  and  allowed  him  to  go  on  alone. 

But  Harley  could  not  resist  the  temptation  of 
looking  back.  They  had  arrived  in  the  town  two 
hours  ahead  of  time,  and  he  knew  that  the  candi- 

400 


THE    CANDIDATE 

date's  family  were  not  yet  expecting  him,  but  he 
could  see  the  house  behind  its  shield  of  trees,  now 
swept  of  foliage,  and  already  there  were  signs  of 
life  about  it.  He  saw  the  candidate's  wife  run  down 
the  steps  and  meet  her  husband,  and  then  he  looked 
away. 

"This  is  one  part  of  a  Presidential  campaign  that 
we  must  not  w,atch,"  he  said  to  the  group  about  him, 
and  without  a  word  they  walked  to  their  hotel,  not 
glancing  back  again,  although  more  than  one  in  the 
group  was  secretly  envious  of  Harley,  because  of  the 
welcome  that  they  knew  awaited  him  a  little  later. 

It  was  a  good  hotel  that  received  them,  and  it 
was  an  abounding  breakfast  that  awaited  them  there. 
Harley  sat  near  a  window  of  the  dining-room,  where 
he  could  look  out  upon  the  street  and  see  the  city 
coming  to  life,  a  process  that  began  but  slowly,  be 
cause  it  is  always  a  holiday  when  the  people  cast  their 
votes  for  a  President.  Yet  the  city  awoke  at  last, 
men  began  to  appear  in  the  streets,  a  polling-booth 
opposite  the  hotel  was  opened,  and  the  Presidential 
election  had  begun. 

The  dining-room  was  now  filling  up,  and  all  around 
Harley  and  his  friends  rose  the  hum  of  interested 
talk.  People  were  beginning  to  speculate  on  the 
result,  and  to  point  out  the  strangers  whom  Jimmy 
Gray  son  had  brought  among  them. 

Harley  presently  went  into  the  lobby  and  found  it 
crowded.  All  there  were  touched  by  a  keen,  eager 
interest,  and  were  balancing  the  chances.  The  cor 
respondent,  alert,  watchful,  saw  that  the  bulk  of 
opinion  was  against  Jimmy  Grayson.  He  saw,  too, 
that  while  there  was  much  local  pride  in  the  can 
didate,  it  was  tinctured  by  envy,  and  here  and  there 
by  malice.  He  realized  to  the  full  the  truth  of  the 
«6  401 


THE    CANDIDATE 

old  adage  that  a  prophet  is  never  without  honor 
save  in  his  own  country. 

In  that  crowded  lobby  were  men  who  had  been 
conspicuous  in  local  public  life  when  Jimmy  Gray- 
son  was  a  mere  boy,  and  they  could  not  understand 
how  he  had  passed  them;  it  was  a  chance,  they  said 
and  believed — mere  luck,  not  merit.  Others,  in  a  tone 
of  patronage,  told  stories  of  the  days  when  he  was  a 
threadbare  and  penniless  young  attorney,  and  they 
named  at  least  five  other  men  of  his  age  who  had 
been  more  promising.  Then  they  depreciated  his 
gifts,  and  in  the  same  breath  disclaimed  all  intention 
of  doing  so,  believing,  too,  that  the  disclaimer  was 
genuine.  Yet  Harley  had  no  great  blame  for  these 
men ;  he  understood  how  bitter  it  was  for  them  to  see 
the  hero  march  by  while  they  stood  still,  and  it  was 
not  the  first  instance  of  the  kind  that  he  had  no 
ticed. 

But  the  crowd,  on  the  whole,  was  loyal,  and  sin 
cerely  wished  Jimmy  Grayson  success.  Yet  they 
could  not  keep  down  gloomy  forebodings.  There  had 
been  a  defection  of  a  minority  within  the  party,  led 
by  Mr.  Goodnight,  Mr.  Crayon,  and  their  associates, 
who  had  gone  bodily  into  the  enemy's  camp,  a  proced 
ure  which  had  made  much  noise  in  the  American 
world,  and  none  could  tell  how  much  it  would  cost. 
The  story  of  the  Philipsburg  conference  and  Jimmy 
Grayson's  great  speech  at  Waterville  was  known  to 
everybody,  and  now,  while  the  old  politicians  ap 
plauded  his  courage  and  honesty,  they  began  to  fear 
its  effects.  Harley  felt  the  same  thrill  of  apprehen 
sion,  the  momentary  timidity,  that  even  the  bravest 
experience  when  about  to  go  into  battle. 

Those  in  the  lobby  soon  knew  Harley  and  his 
friends,  and  the  nature  of  their  business,  and  many 

402 


THE   CANDIDATE 

questions  which  they  could  not  answer  were  asked 
them.  "You  have  been  with  Jimmy  Grayson  all 
along;  will  he  win?"  and  whether  it  was  Harley  or 
another  he  was  forced  to  reply  that  he  did  not  know. 

Harley  now  looked  at  his  watch,  something  he  had 
been  eager  to  do  for  a  time  that  seemed  interminable 
to  him;  it  was  yet  early,  so  the  watch  told  him,  but 
he  looked  out  next  at  the  heavens  and  the  day  was 
unfolding.  "I  will  go  now;  I  refuse  to  wait  any 
longer,"  he  said  to  himself,  and  he  slipped  away  from 
the  crowd. 

He  went  rapidly  down  the  street,  and  the  Presi 
dential  campaign  was  not  in  his  mind  at  all ;  the  only 
thought  there  was  Sylvia!  Sylvia!  He  stood  present 
ly  before  the  Grayson  door  and  rang  the  bell.  He 
remembered  how  he  had  rung  that  same  bell  five 
months  ago,  never  dreaming  that  his  fate  would  an 
swer  his  ring.  And  now  that  same  happy  fate  was 
answering  it  again,  because,  when  the  door  swung 
back,  there  was  Sylvia,  her  hand  upon  the  bolt  and 
the  smile  of  young  love  that  has  found  its  own  upon 
her  face. 

"I  knew  it  was  you — I  knew  your  ring,"  she  said, 
unconscious  of  the  fact  that  one  ring  is  like  another. 

"And  you  came  to  meet  me,"  said  Harley.  "It 
is  fitting;  you  opened  it  first  to  me  and  you  let  my 
happiness  in." 

"  And  you  brought  mine  with  you  when  you  came." 

They  were  young  and  much  in  love. 

Harley  stepped  inside,  and  she  closed  the  door. 

"I  think  I  shall  kiss  you,"  he  said. 

"Uncle  James  and  Aunt  Anna  are  in  the  next 
room." 

"I  don't  want  to  kiss  either  Uncle  James  or  Aunt 
Anna." 

403 


THE    CANDIDATE 

"They  might  come." 

"  I  defy  them — yes,  I  bid  defiance  even  to  a  Presi 
dential  nominee." 

He  put  his  arm  around  her  waist  and  kissed  her. 

"You  know  that  he  hasn't  had  time  to  come." 

"Then  I  give  him  another  chance.  I  defy  that 
terrible  man  again.  Yes,  I  defy  him  twice,  thrice,  and 
more  times." 

She  struggled  a  little,  and  her  cheeks  flamed,  but 
she  thought  how  fine,  tall,  and  masterful  he  was,  and 
how  long  it  was  since  she  had  seen  him — it  had  not 
really  been  long. 

"Sylvia,"  he  said,  "this  is  the  next  best  day." 

"The  next  best  day?"  wonderingly. 

"The  next  best  day  to  the  one  on  which  we  shall 
be  married.  I  think  I  shall  defy  your  terrible  uncle 
again." 

And  she  blushed  redder  than  ever.  As  a  matter 
of  fact  the  "terrible  uncle,"  hearing  a  step  in  the 
hall,  came  to  the  door  of  his  room  and  saw  this  de 
fiance  issued  to  him  not  only  once,  but  twice.  Where 
upon  he  promptly  went  back  into  his  own  room, 
shut  the  door,  and  said  to  his  wife,  "Anna,  you  must 
not  go  into  the  hall  for  at  least  ten  minutes."  He 
remembered  some  meetings  of  his  own,  and  Mrs. 
Grayson,  although  she  had  not  looked  into  the  hall, 
understood  perfectly. 

Presently  Sylvia,  keeping  herself  well  into  the 
background,  showed  Harley  into  the  parlor,  and  he 
paid  his  respects  to  Mrs.  Grayson,  who  was  sincerely 
glad  to  see  him  again.  She  looked  upon  him  now 
as  one  of  the  family.  "King"  Plummer  came  be 
fore  long,  and  by-and-by  he  and  Harley  went  into 
the  town  to  seek  political  news.  "But  I'll  be  back 
soon,"  he  said  to  Sylvia. 

404 


THE    CANDIDATE 

"And  I'll  be  at  the  door  when  you  come,"  she  said 
to  him. 

They  did  not  spend  more  than  an  hour  in  the  town, 
and  when  they  returned  the  other  correspondents 
were  with  them.  The  day  had  not  improved,  the 
lowering  clouds  still  stalked  across  the  horizon,  and 
the  wind  came  cold  and  sharp  out  of  the  northwest. 

"I've  had  a  telegram  from  New  York  saying  that 
a  great  vote  is  being  polled,"  said  Hobart,  "and 
I've  no  doubt  it's  the  case  throughout  the  East. 
Yet  Jimmy  Grayson  is  bound  to  sit  at  home  help 
less  while  all  this  great  battle  is  going  on." 

"He  has  done  his  work  already,"  said  Harley; 
"and  now  it  is  the  rank  and  file  who  count." 

There  was  no  sign  of  gloom  at  the  Grayson  home. 
The  candidate,  refreshed,  and  with  his  half-dozen 
young  children  around  him,  was  unfeignedly  happy, 
while  Mrs.  Grayson,  hovering  near  her  husband, 
who  had  been  practically  lost  to  her  for,  lo!  these 
many  months,  showed  the  same  joy  and  relief.  She 
received  the  group  with  genuine  warmth — her  hus 
band's  friends  were  hers — and  bade  them  make  the 
house  their  home  until  the  fight  was  over.  Sylvia 
greeted  them  as  old  comrades,  which,  in  fact,  they 
were.  A  room  with  tables  for  writing  was  already 
set  apart  for  their  use. 

The  children  were  in  holiday  attire  and  thrilled 
by  excitement ;  they  could  not  be  suppressed.  They 
were  well  aware  what  it  was  to  be  President  of  the 
United  States,  and  they  failed  to  understand  how 
any  one  could  vote  against  their  father.  "If  he  is 
beaten,"  thought  Harley,  "it  is  not  Mr.  Grayson 
nor  Mrs.  Grayson  who  will  feel  the  most  disappoint 
ment,  but  these  little  children." 

Neither  the  candidate  nor  his  wife  alluded  to  the 

405 


THE   CANDIDATE 

Presidential  race,  seeming  to  enjoy  this  short  respite 
after  the  long  strain  and  before  the  crucial  trial  yet 
to  come.  They  talked  of  the  small  affairs  of  the 
home,  and  she  gave  the  news  of  their  neighbors,  as 
if  they  would  make  the  most  of  this  brief  hour;  yet 
it  was  not  wholly  natural,  there  was  in  it  a  note  of 
suspense,  and  Harley  knew  that,  despite  the  joy  of  re 
union,  the  shadow  of  the  coming  night  was  already 
over  them.  Jimmy  Grayson  must  feel  that  while 
he  idled  about  his  own  home  the  ballots  were  fall 
ing  in  the  boxes  off  to  the  East  and  to  the  West  by 
the  hundred  thousand,  and  his  own  fate  was  being 
decided. 

Harley  and  Sylvia,  after  the  greetings  and  the 
casual  talk,  slipped  away  from  the  others.  There 
was  a  little  glass-covered  piazza  at  the  back  of  the 
house,  and  there  they  sat. 

"Now  you  must  tell  me  all  that  you  have  been 
doing  since  I  left  you." 

"Nothing  worth  the  telling.  How  could  any 
thing  interesting  happen  after  you  had  gone?  But 
I've  been  doing  some  fine  thinking." 

"Of  what?" 

"Of  you! — always  you!  I've  had  to  tear  up  the 
first  page  of  many  of  my  despatches." 

"Why?" 

"Because  I  would  address  them  to  Sylvia  instead 
of  to  the  Gazette." 

"  John,  I  didn't  know  that  you  had  imagina 
tion." 

"It  isn't  imagination;  I  don't  need  imagination 
when  I'm  near  you  or  thinking  of  you,  which  is  all 
the  time." 

"And  you  are  going  to  marry  a  Western  girl,  after 
.all?"  irrelevantly. 

496 


THE    CANDIDATE 

'I  wouldn't  marry  any  other  kind,  and  there  is 
only  one  of  them  that  I  would  marry." 

They  did  not  speak  again  for  a  half-minute,  but 
what  they  said  was  relevant. 

But  the  best  of  times  must  come  to  an  end,  even 
if  it  is  merely  to  give  way  to  another  good  time,  and 
Harley  could  not  remain  long  at  the  candidate's 
house,  but  strolled  with  Blaisdell  and  two  or  three 
others  through  the  city.  He,  too,  had  a  sense  of 
helplessness  in  regard  to  the  campaign.  Like  Jimmy 
Grayson,  he  was  now  condemned  to  a  period  of  in 
action,  and,  strive  as  he  might,  he  could  not  aid  his 
friend  a  particle.  They  went  to  the  local  head 
quarters  of  the  party — two  parlors  of  the  largest 
hotel  in  the  city. 

The  rooms,  which  had  been  thrown  together,  were 
packed  with  men  and  thick  with  tobacco  -  smoke, 
making  the  air  heavy  and  hot.  News  there  was  none, 
but  clouds  of  rumor  and  gossip.  The  telegraph  said 
bad  weather,  cold  and  raw,  with  gusts  of  rain,  pre 
vailed  all  over  the  United  States,  but  that  an  enor 
mous  vote  was  being  polled,  nevertheless.  In  all 
the  booths  in  all  the  great  cities  long  lines  of  people 
were  waiting,  and  reports  of  the  same  character  were 
coming  from  the  country  districts.  But  with  the 
secret  ballot  there  was  nothing  whatever  to  indicate 
which  way  this  vote  was  being  cast,  nor  would  there 
be  until  the  polls  were  closed  and  the  official  count 
was  begun.  It  was  said  that  in  many  of  the  pre 
cincts  of  New  York,  Boston,  and  Philadelphia  more 
than  half  the  vote  was  cast  already,  so  eager  were 
both  sides  for  victory.  These  bulletins,  more  or  less 
vague  as  they  came  from  time  to  time,  were  posted 
on  a  blackboard,  and  their  vagueness  did  not  keep 
them  from  arousing  the  keenest  interest. 

407 


THE    CANDIDATE 

Dexter,  the  chairman  of  the  state  committee,  a 
thin-faced  man  who  talked  little,  shook  his  head 
ominously. 

"I  don't  like  the  enormous  vote  they  are  polling 
so  early  in  the  big  cities,"  he  said.  "It  shows  that 
the  band  of  traitors  led  by  Goodnight,  Crayon,  and 
their  kind  are  getting  in  their  work." 

"But  we  don't  know  it  to  be  a  fact,"  said  Harley, 
resolved  that  the  cloud  should  have  its  silver  lining. 
"For  every  man  in  that  crowd  eager  to  cast  a  vote 
against  Jimmy  Gray  son,  there  may  be  one  eager  to 
cast  a  vote  for  him." 

Dexter  shook  his  head  again,  and  with  increased 
gloom.  Harley's  argument  might  appeal  to  his 
hopes,  but  not  to  his  judgment. 

"I'm  sorry  that  Jimmy  Grayson  made  his  attack 
upon  that  committee,"  he  said.  "It  spoke  well 
for  his  courage  and  honesty,  but  it  was  bad  pol 
itics." 

"I  think  that  courage  and  honesty  are  good  poli 
tics,"  said  Harley,  and  he  left  Dexter  to  his  pessimis 
tic  thoughts. 

The  rooms  were  growing  too  close,  and  there  was 
an  absence  of  definite  news,  so  he  went  again  into  the 
open  air.  The  character  of  the  day  was  unchanged; 
it  was  still  dark  with  ominous  clouds  trooping  across 
the  sky,  and  the  wind  had  grown  more  bitter. 

Harley  now  found  himself  under  the  strain  of  an 
extreme  anxiety.  He  did  not  realize  until  this  day 
how  deeply  his  own  feelings  were  interwoven  with 
the  fate  of  the  campaign,  and  how  bleak  the  night 
would  look  to  him  and  Sylvia  if  Mr.  Grayson  were 
beaten — and  he  knew  that  the  odds  were  against 
him;  despite  himself,  he,  a  man  of  calm  mind  and 
strong  will,  was  a  prey  to  nerves.  He  began  to 

408 


THE    CANDIDATE 

shrink  at  the  thought  of  the  count  of  the  votes,  and 
to  fear  the  first  real  bulletins. 

He  walked  about  the  streets  awhile  to  steady  him 
self,  and  then  looked  at  his  watch.  It  was  past  noon 
there,  but  later  in  the  East  and  earlier  in  the  West; 
yet  the  bulk  of  the  ballots  were  cast  already.  In 
three  or  four  hours  more  the  tabulated  vote  in  the 
states  farthest  east  would  begin  to  arrive,  and  they 
would  listen  to  the  opening  chapter  of  the  story,  a 
story  which  he  feared  to  hear. 

Absorbed  in  his  thoughts,  he  had  strolled  uncon 
sciously  towards  the  country.  There,  at  a  turn  of 
the  road,  he  met  two  people  in  a  light  wagon,  and 
they  were  the  candidate  and  his  wife — Mrs.  Grayson 
driving.  Harley  looked  up  in  surprise  at  their  calm, 
cheerful  faces.  How  could  they  assume  such  an  air 
with  the  combat  at  its  height? 

"I'm  sorry  you  and  Sylvia  were  not  with  us," 
said  Mr.  Grayson;  "Mrs.  Grayson  has  been  taking 
me  to  see  the  changes  in  the  country  since  I  went 
campaigning.  There  are  a  half-dozen  new  residences 
in  the  suburb  out  yonder,  and  they've  built  a  new 
foot-bridge,  too,  over  the  river.  Oh,  our  city  is 
looking  up!" 

They  drove  on  cheerfully,  and  Harley  went  back 
to  town.  All  the  arrangements  for  the  night  were 
made;  the  two  great  telegraph  companies  would 
handle  their  despatches  in  equal  proportion,  and 
would  send  bulletins  of  the  count,  as  fast  as  they 
came,  to  the  candidate.  Headquarters  would  do 
the  same,  and  there  would  be  no  lack  of  news. 

Harley  rejoined  his  comrades  at  the  hotel,  but 
stayed  with  them  only  a  little  while,  because  he,  of 
course,  was  to  dine  with  Sylvia  and  the  Graysons. 
AH  the  others  had  been  invited,  but  they  did  not 

409 


THE    CANDIDATE 

wish  to  overwhelm  the  candidate  on  this  day  of  all 
days,  and  none  except  "King"  Plummet  would  go. 

"Lucky  fellow,"  said  Hobart,  as  Harley  walked 
away. 

"But  not  luckier  than  he  deserves,"  said  Blaisdell. 

After  dinner  Hobart  looked  at  his  watch,  then 
shut  it,  and  with  a  quick  motion  thrust  it  into  his 
pocket. 

"The  polls  have  closed  in  three-fourths  of  the 
states,"  he  said,  "and  probably  somebody  is  elected. 
I  wonder  who  it  is?" 

Nobody  replied,  but  on  their  way  to  Jimmy  Gray- 
son's  house  they  passed  through  the  party  head 
quarters.  The  rooms  were  so  crowded  that  they 
could  scarcely  move,  but  they  managed  to  approach 
the  blackboard,  and  they  saw  written  upon  it: 

"Goodnight,  Crayon,  and  others  claim  decisive  de 
feat  of  Grayson.  Assert  that  he  will  not  get  one- 
third  the  vote  of  the  electoral  college." 

"What  nonsense!"  exclaimed  Hobart,  who  felt  a 
thrill  of  anger.  "Why,  they  have  not  begun  the 
count  of  the  vote  anywhere!" 

They  left  the  rooms  and  went  into  the  street.  The 
November  twilight  was  coming  earlier  than  ever 
under  the  shadow  of  the  thickening  clouds,  and  al 
ready  lights  were  beginning  to  shine  from  many  win 
dows.  Uniformed  messenger-boys  were  passing. 

"The  wires  will  soon  be  talking,"  said  Churchill. 

The  candidate's  house  was  not  inferior  to  any  in 
the  number  of  its  lights.  In  the  cold,  dark  twilight  it 
reared  a  cheerful  front,  and  the  candidate  himself, 
when  he  received  them,  was  steady  and  calm. 

"Some  of  our  friends  are  here  already,"  he  said, 
and  he  had  them  shown  into  the  large  room,  where 
the  tables  for  their  use  had  been  placed. 

410 


THE    CANDIDATE 

It  was  brilliantly  illuminated,  and  a  dozen  men 
were  sitting  about  speculating  on  the  events  of  the 
day  and  hoping  for  a  happy  result.  Among  them 
was  old  Senator  Curtis,  who  had  come  all  the  way 
from  Wyoming,  and  he  was  loudly  declaring  that 
if  Mr.  Grayson  were  not  elected  he  would  never  take 
any  interest  in  another  Presidential  election.  The 
others  made  no  comment  on  his  declaration. 

Harley  came  in  late.  At  dinner  with  the  Gray- 
sons  he  had  been  thinking,  when  he  looked  at  Sylvia's 
lovely  face  across  the  table,  that  it  would  always  be 
just  across  the  table  from  him  now,  and  the  thought 
was  such  a  happy  one  that  it  clung  to  him. 

The  correspondents  disposed  themselves  about  the 
room,  and  placed  pencil  and  paper  on  the  tables; 
yet  there  would  be  nothing  for  them  to  write  for  a 
long  time.  They  were  only  to  tell  the  story  of  how 
the  candidate  took  it,  after  the  story  itself  was 
told.  Their  business  was  with  either  a  paean  or  a 
dirge. 

Harley  looked  around  at  the  group,  all  of  whom  he 
knew. 

"Have  you  fellows  thought  that  this  is  our  last 
meeting?"  he  asked. 

There  was  a  sudden  silence  in  the  room.  All 
seemed  to  feel  the  solemnity  of  the  moment.  Out 
in  the  street  some  happy  men,  who  had  helped  to 
empty  the  bowl,  were  singing  a  campaign  song,  and 
its  sound  came  faintly  to  the  group. 

"A  wager  to  you  boys  that  none  of  you  can  name 
the  state  from  which  the  first  completed  return  will 
come.  What  odds  will  you  give  ?"  said  "  King"  Plum- 
mer,  who  was  resolutely  seeking  to  be  cheerful. 

"We  won't  take  your  wager  because  we'd  win, 
sure,"  said  Hobart.  "It  will  be  a  precinct  in  New 

411 


THE   CANDIDATE 

York  City,  up-town.  They  get  through  quick  there ; 
they  never  fail  to  be  first." 

"Whatever  the  vote  there  is,  I  am  going  to  look 
upon  it  as  an  omen,"  said  Mr.  Heathcote.  "If  our 
majority  is  reduced  it  will  mean  a  bad  start,  good 
ending;  if  our  majority  is  increased,  it  will  mean  that 
a  good  beginning  is  half  the  battle." 

Dexter,  the  chairman  of  the  state  campaign  com 
mittee,  entered,  his  thin  face  still  shadowed  by 
gloomy  thoughts. 

"We've  had  a  few  bulletins  at  headquarters,  but 
nothing  definite,"  he  said.  "All  the  reports  so  far 
are  from  the  East,  of  course,  owing  to  the  difference 
in  time,  but  I'd  like  mighty  well  to  know  what  they 
are  doing  out  there  on  the  Slope  and  in  the  Rockies." 

"We'll  know  in  good  time,  Charlie;  just  you  wait," 
said  Jimmy  Grayson,  who  was  the  calmest  man  in  the 
room. 

"I've  done  enough  waiting  already  to  last  me  the 
rest  of  my  life,"  said  Dexter,  moodily. 

The  door  was  opened  softly,  and  four  or  five  pairs 
of  young  eyes  peeped  shyly  into  the  room.  The  can 
didate,  with  assurances  that  there  was  nothing  to  be 
told,  gently  pushed  the  youthful  figures  away  and 
closed  the  door  again. 

"I  would  put  them  to  bed,"  he  said,  apologetical 
ly,  "but  they  can't  sleep,  and  it  is  not  any  use  for 
them  to  try ;  so  they  are  supposed  to  be  shepherded 
in  another  part  of  the  house  by  a  nurse,  but  they 
seem  to  break  the  bounds  now  and  then." 

"I  claim  the  privilege  of  carrying  them  the  good 
news  when  we  get  it,  if  they  are  still  awake,"  said 
Harley. 

A  messenger-boy  entered  with  a  despatch,  but  it 
contained  no  information,  merely  an  assurance  from 

412 


THE   CANDIDATE 

a  devoted  New  England  adherent  that  he  believed 
Jimmy  Grayson  was  elected,  as  he  felt  it  in  his  bones. 

"Why  does  a  man  waste  time  and  money  in  tele 
graphing  us  a  thing  like  that?"  said  Dexter.  "It 
isn't  worth  anything." 

But  Harley  was  not  so  sure.  He  believed  with 
Jimmy  Grayson  that  good  wishes  had  more  than  a 
sentimental  value.  He  went  to  the  window  and  gazed 
into  the  street.  The  number  of  people  singing  cam 
paign  songs  as  they  waited  for  the  news  was  increas 
ing,  and  the  echoes  of  much  laughter  and  talk  floated 
towards  the  house.  Farther  down  the  street  they 
were  throwing  flash-lights  on  white  canvas  in  front  of 
a  great  crowd,  but  so  far  the  bulletins  were  only 
humorous  quotations  or  patent-medicine  advertise 
ments,  each  to  be  saluted  at  the  beginning  with  a 
cheer  and  at  the  end  with  a  groan.  He  turned 
back  to  the  table  just  as  another  boy  bearing  a  de 
spatch  entered  the  room. 

Mr.  Dexter  had  constituted  himself  the  clerk  of 
the  evening — that  is,  he  was  to  sit  at  the  centre-table 
and  read  the  despatches  as  they  came.  He  took  the 
yellow  envelope  from  the  boy,  tore  it  open,  and  paused 
a  moment.  Then  all  knew  by  the  change  upon  his 
face  that  the  first  news  had  come.  Dexter  turned  to 
Hobart. 

"You  were  right,"  he  said,  "it  is  from  New  York 
City,  up-town.  The  Thirty-first  Assembly  District 
in  the  City  of  New  York  gives  a  majority  of  824  for 
Grayson.  This  is  official." 

At  another  table  sat  a  man  with  a  book  containing 
the  complete  vote  of  all  the  election  districts  in  every 
state  of  the  Union  at  the  preceding  Presidential  elec 
tion.  All  looked  inquiringly  at  him,  and  he  instantly 
made  the  comparison. 


THE   CANDIDATE 

"We  carried  the  Thirty -first  Assembly  District  of 
the  City  of  New  York  by  1077  four  years  ago,"  he 
said.  "Our  majority  suffers  a  net  loss  of  253." 

"Did  I  not  tell  you?"  exclaimed  Heathcote.  "A 
bad  start  makes  a  good  ending." 

"It's  a  happy  sign,"  said  Sylvia,  with  her  usual 
resolute  hopefulness. 

But,  despite  themselves,  a  gloom  settled  upon  all; 
the  first  report  from  the  battle  was  ominous — such  a 
loss  continued  would  throw  the  election  heavily  in 
favor  of  the  other  man — and  after  her  remark  they 
were  silent. 

Mrs.  Grayson  looked  into  the  room,  but  they  told 
her  there  was  nothing,  and,  whether  she  believed 
them  or  not,  she  closed  the  door  again  without  further 
question. 

"Here  comes  another  boy,"  said  Hobart,  who  was 
at  the  window,  watching  the  crowd  before  the  trans 
parency. 

"Now  this  is  good  news,  sure,"  said  "King"  Plum- 
mer. 

It  was  from  another  assembly  district  in  New 
York  City,  and  the  party  majority  was  cut  down 
again,  but  this  time  the  reduction  was  only  62  votes. 

"That's  better,"  said  Mr.  Heathcote. 

"It  will  have  to  be  a  great  deal  better  to  elect  our 
man,"  whispered  Hobart  to  Harley. 

Harley  went  to  the  window  again,  and  looked 
down  the  street  towards  the  transparency,  where  the 
opposition  voters  were  cheering  wildly  at  the  first 
news  so  favorable  to  their  side.  Despite  himself, 
Harley  felt  an  unreasoning  anger  towards  them. 
"You  cheer  about  nothing,"  he  said  to  himself.  "This 
is  only  a  few  thousand  votes  among  millions."  Then 
he  was  ashamed  of  his  feeling,  and  left  the  window. 

414 


THE   CANDIDATE 

"The  Hub  speaks!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Dexter,  as  he 
tore  open  another  envelope.  Then  he  announced  a 
vote  from  one  of  the  wards  of  Boston. 

"And  it  speaks  right,"  said  the  man  with  the  book. 
"Mr.  Grayson  cuts  down  the  majority  polled  against 
us  there  four  years  ago  by  433  votes." 

A  little  cheer  was  raised  in  the  room,  and  down 
the  street  at  the  transparency  there  was  a  cheer,  too, 
but  the  voices  were  not  the  same  as  those  that  cheered 
a  few  moments  ago. 

"  Good  old  Boston,"  said  Hobart,  "  and  we  made  that 
gain  right  where  the  enemy  thought  he  was  strongest!" 

The  first  gain  of  the  evening  had  a  hopeful  effect 
upon  all,  and  they  spoke  cheerfully. 

But  a  vote  from  Providence,  a  minute  later  went 
the  other  way,  and  it  was  followed  by  one  of  a  similar 
nature  from  New  Haven.  The  gloom  returned. 
Their  minds  fluctuated  with  the  bulletins. 

"It  was  too  good  to  last,"  whispered  Hobart, 
downcast. 

The  children  again  appeared  at  the  door  and 
wanted  to  know  if  their  father  was  elected.  Sylvia 
took  upon  herself  the  task  of  assuring  them  that  he 
was  not  yet  elected,  but  he  certainly  would  be  before 
many  hours.  Then  they  went  away  sanguine  and 
satisfied,  and  trying  to  keep  sleepy  eyelids  from 
closing.  In  the  street  the  noise  was  increasing  as 
the  crowd  received  facts,  and  the  cheers  were  loud 
and  various.  But  those  of  the  enemy  predominated, 
and  Harley  thrilled  more  than  once  with  silent  anger. 
A  half-dozen  men  passed  the  house  singing  a  song  in 
derision  of  Jimmy  Grayson ;  some  of  the  words  came 
to  them  through  the  window,  and  Sylvia  flushed,  but 
Mr.  Grayson  himself  showed  no  sign  that  he  under 
stood. 


THE   CANDIDATE 

The  telegrams  now  were  arriving  fast;  there  were 
two  streams  of  boys,  one  coming  in  at  the  door  and 
the  other  going  out,  and  Mr.  Dexter,  at  the  table, 
settled  to  his  work.  For  a  while  the  chief  sounds  in 
the  room  were  the  tearing  of  paper,  the  rustling  of 
unfolded  despatches,  and  the  dry  voice  of  the  chair 
man  announcing  results.  These  votes  were  all  from 
Eastern  cities,  where  the  polls  closed  early  and  the 
ballots  could  be  counted  quickly.  Over  the  West 
and  the  Far  West  darkness  still  brooded,  and  the 
country  districts  everywhere  were  silent. 

Yet  Harley  knew  that  throughout  the  United 
States  the  utmost  activity  prevailed.  To  him  the 
night  was  wonderful ;  in  a  day  of  perfect  peace  nearly 
twenty  million  votes  had  been  cast,  and  the  most 
powerful  ruler  in  the  world  had  been  made  by  the 
free  choice  of  the  nation,  just  as  four  years  or  eight 
years  hence  another  ruler  would  be  made  in  his 
place  by  the  same  free  choice,  the  old  giving  way  to 
the  new.  Now  to-night  they  were  trying  to  find  out 
who  this  ruler  was,  and  no  one  yet  could  tell. 

But  the  tale  would  be  told  in  a  few  hours.  Harley 
knew  that  over  an  area  of  three  million  square  miles, 
as  large  as  the  ancient  civilized  world,  men  were  at 
work  counting,  down  to  the  last  remote  mountain 
hamlet,  and  putting  the  result  on  the  wires  as  they 
counted  it.  And  ninety  million  people  waited,  ready 
to  abide  by  the  result,  whether  it  was  their  man  or 
the  other.  To  him  there  was  something  extraor 
dinary  in  this  organized,  this  peaceful  but  tremen 
dous  activity.  To-night  all  the  efforts  of  the  world's 
most  energetic  nation  were  bent  upon  a  single  point. 
In  each  state  the  wires  talked  from  every  town  and 
village  to  a  common  centre,  and  each  state  in  turn, 
through  its  metropolis,  talked  to  the  common  centre 

416 


THE    CANDIDATE 

of  them  all,  and  the  general  result  of  all  they  said 
would  be  known  to  everybody  before  morning.  It 
seemed  marvellous  to  him,  although  he  understood  it 
perfectly,  that  a  few  hours  after  the  boxes  were 
opened  the  votes  should  be  counted  and  accredited 
to  the  proper  man. 

He  resumed  his  seat  at  a  table,  although  there 
was  yet  but  little  for  him  to  write,  and  listened  to  the 
dry,  monotonous  voice  of  Dexter  as  he  called  the 
vote.  The  results  were  still  of  a  variable  nature, 
gains  here  and  losses  there,  but  on  the  whole  the 
losses  were  the  larger,  and  the  atmosphere  of  the 
room  grew  more  discouraging.  The  great  state  of 
New  York,  upon  which  they  had  relied,  was  showing 
every  sign  that  it  would  not  justify  their  faith.  The 
returns  from  the  city  of  New  York,  from  Buffalo, 
Rochester,  Syracuse,  were  all  bad,  and  the  most  reso 
lute  hopes  could  not  make  them  otherwise. 

" '  As  goes  New  York,  so  goes  the  Union,' ' '  whispered 
Hobart,  quoting  an  old  proverb. 

"Maybe  that  rule  will  be  broken  at  last,"  replied 
Harley,  hopefully. 

But  even  Sylvia  looked  gloomy.  There  was  one 
thought,  as  these  returns  came,  in  the  rounds  of  them 
all.  It  was  that  the  members  of  the  Philipsburg 
Committee  had  made  good  their  threat;  their  de 
fection  had  drawn  from  Graysor.  thousands  of  votes 
in  a  pivotal  state,  and  if  he  had  ever  had  a  chance 
of  election  this  took  it  from  him.  Yet  no  one  uttered 
a  word  of  reproach  for  pnmy  Grayson,  although 
Harley  knew  that  those  who  called  themselves  prac 
tical  politicians  were  silently  upbraiding  him.  He 
feared  that  they  might  consider  their  early  warn 
ings  justified,  and  he  resented  it. 

A  discordant  no4'e,  too,  was  sounded  by  the  South; 


THE    CANDIDATE 

Alabama,  a  state  that  they  considered  sure,  although 
by  a  small  majority,  would  go  for  the  other  man  if 
the  returns  continued  of  the  same  tone.  The  only 
ray  of  light  came  from  New  England,  whence  it  had 
not  been  expected.  The  large  cities  there  were  show 
ing  slight  increases  for  Jimmy  Grayson. 

"Who  would  have  thought  it?"  said  Mr.  Heath- 
cote. 

But  it  seemed  too  small  to  have  any  effect,  and 
they  turned  their  minds  to  other  parts  of  the  coun 
try  that  seemed  to  be  more  promising  ground.  The 
voice  of  Mr.  Dexter,  growing  hoarse  from  incessant 
use  and  wholly  without  expression,  read  a  bulletin 
from  New  York: 

"Great  crowd  in  front  of  the  residence  of  the  Hon- 
\prable  Mr.  Goodnight,  on  upper  Fifth  Avenue,  and 
he  is  speaking  to  them  from  the  steps.  Says  the 
election  of  their  man  is  assured.  Derides  Mr.  Gray- 
son;  says  no  man  can  betray  predominant  interests 
and  succeed.  Crowd  hooting  the  name  of  Grayson." 

"The  traitor!"  exclaimed  Hobart. 

But  Jimmy  Grayson  said  nothing.  Harley  watch 
ed  him  closely,  and  he  knew  now  that  the  candidate's 
expressionless  face  was  but  a  mask — it  was  only  hu 
man  that  he  should  feel  deep  emotion.  Harley  saw 
his  lips  quiver  faintly  now  and  then,  and  once  or 
twice  his  eyes  flashed.  Down  the  street,  in  front  of 
the  transparency,  thtre  was  a  tremendous  noise,  the 
people  had  divided  according  to  their  predilections 
and  were  singing  rival  campaign  songs,  but  there 
was  no  disorder. 

Waiters  came  in  bearing  refreshments,  and  dur 
ing  a  lull  in  the  bulletins  they  ate  and  drank.  Mrs. 
Grayson  also  joined  them  for  a  little  while.  She 
said  nothing  about  the  news,  and  Harley  inferred 

418 


THE    CANDIDATE 

from  her  silence  on  the  point  that  she  knew  it  to  be 
discouraging.  But  he  saw  her  give  her  husband  a 
glance  of  pride  and  devotion  that  said  as  plain  as 
print,  "Even  if  you  are  beaten,  you  are  the  man  who 
should  have  been  elected."  She  reported  that  the 
younger  of  the  children  had  dropped  off  to  sleep,  but 
the  others  were  still  eager. 

Again  some  men  passing  the  house  raised  a  cry 
in  derision  of  Jimmy  Grayson,  and  Mrs.  Grayson's 
face  flushed.     The  others  did  not  know  what  to  do; 
they  could  not  go  out  and  rebuke  the  deriders,  as 
that  would  only  make  a  bad  matter  worse,  but  the 
men  soon  passed  on.     Mrs.  Grayson  stayed  only  a 
little  while  in  the  room,  retiring  on  the  plea  of  do 
mestic  duties.     Jimmy  Grayson,   too,   went  out  * 
see  his  children,  he  said,  but   Harley  thought  t^ 
man  and  wife  wished  to  talk  over  the  prospect. 

The  news,  after  the  lull,  began  to  come  fastr  t"an 
ever.  The  West  spoke  at  last,  and  its  fir-  words 
came  through  Denver  and  Salt  Lake,  bu*its  vojce 
was  non-committal.  There  was  nothing^11  l*  t 
dicate  how  Colorado  and  Utah,  both  do^tful  states, 
would  go.  But  presently,  when  Mr  Dexter  broke 
an  envelope  and  opened  a  bulletin,  ie  laughed. 

"Boys,"  he  said,  "here's  faith  *°r  you:  the  pre 
cinct  of  Waterville,  in  Wyoming  casts  every  one  of 
her  votes  .for  Grayson." 

They  cheered.  Certainly  the  people  who  had 
heard  Mr.  Grayson's  decisive  speech  were  loyal  to 
him,  and  they  should  ha^e  honor  despite  their  few 
ness.  But  immediately  behind  it  came  a  bulletin 
that  gave  them  the  heaviest  blow  they  had  yet  re 
ceived. 

"Complete  returns  from  more  than  three-fourths 
of  the  precincts  in  the  state,"  read  Mr.  Dexter, 

419 


THE    CANDIDATE 

"show  beyond  doubt  that  New  Jersey  has  gone  at 
least  20,000  against  Grayson." 

"I   never    did   think  much  of  New  Jersey,  any 
how,"  said  Hobart,  sourly. 

They  laughed,  but  there  was  no  mirth  in  the  laugh. 
Tears    rose    in    Sylvia's    eyes.     Ten    minutes    later, 
Alabama  had  wheeled  into  line  with  New  Jersey — it 
was  certainly  against  Grayson — and  the  news  from 
New  York  was  growing  worse.     Harley,  in  his  heart, 
knew  that  there  was  no  hope  of  the  state,  although 
he  tried  to  draw  encouragement  from  scattered  votes 
here  and  there.     From  the  Middle  West  the  news 
as  mixed,  but  its  general  tenor  was  not  favorable, 
t  New  England  was  still  behaving  well. 
\Our  vote  in  Massachusetts  surprises  me,"  said 
.     ^Heathcote;  "we  shall  more  than  cut  their  ma 
jority  hgjf      ^e  sha\\  carrv  Boston  and  Worcester, 
and  wv  are  even  making  gains  in  the  country  dis 
tricts.'^ 

"Aim  n<i 

*  3S\  complete  returns  from  Michigan  and 
Wisconsin  ^pw  ^^  ^e  former  has  gone  for  Gray- 
son  by  a  sub^ntial  majority,  and  the  latter  against 
him  by  a  majoiy  about  the  same)"  read  Mr.  Dexter. 
"Which  show\that  Michigan  is  much  the  finer 
state  of  the  two,'Vd  Hobart. 

"One  state  at  lea\t  is  secure,"  said  Harley. 
They  heard  a  trem\dous  cheer  down  the  street  in 
front  of  the  transparency,  and  Harley  went  to  the 
window.     His  heart  fell  ^en  he  saw  that  the  cheer, 
was    continued,    ca^e    from    the    opposition 
crowd.     It  was  announced  iefinitely  on  the  cloth 
that  New  York  had  gone  against  Grayson;  the  re 
turns  permitted  no  doubt  of  it,  wid  there  was  reason 
why  the  enemy  should  rejoice.     Presently  their  own 
bulletins  confirmed  the  bad  news,  and  announced 

420 


THE    CANDIDATE 

that  off  in  another  city  the  bands  were  serenading 
the  other  man. 

Blow  followed  blow.  Connecticut,  despite  gains 
made  there,  went  against  Grayson  by  a  majority, 
small  it  is  true,  but  decisive,  and  Illinois  and  In 
diana  speedily  followed  her  bad  lead.  To  Harley 
all  seemed  over,  and  he  could  not  take  it  with  resig 
nation.  Jimmy  Grayson  was  the  better  man  on  the 
better  platform,  and  he  should  have  been  elected. 
It  was  a  crime  to  reject  him.  An  angry  mist  came 
over  his  eyes,  and  he  walked  into  the  hall  that  no 
one  should  see  it.  But  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Grayson  stood 
at  the  end  of  the  hall,  evidently  having  just  come 
from  the  children's  room,  and  before  he  could  turn 
away  he  heard  her  say: 

"We  have  lost,  but  you  are  still  the  man  of  the 
nation  to  me." 

As  he  was  returning  he  met  Sylvia,  and  now  the 
tears  in  her  eyes  were  plainly  visible. 

"John,  it  can't  be  true!     He  isn't  beaten,  is  he?" 

"  No,  it  is  not  true,  Sylvia,"  he  said,  telling  what  he 
did  not  believe.  "We  still  have  a  chance." 

They  returned  at  once  to  the  room,  and  Mr.  Gray- 
son  came  in  a  minute  later,  his  face  wearing  the 
same  marble  mask.  When  two  or  three  forced  them 
selves  to  speak  encouraging  words,  he  smiled  and 
said  there  was  yet  hope.  But  Harley  had  none, 
and  he  felt  sure  that  Jimmy  Grayson,  too,  was  with 
out  it. 

"Good  news  from  Iowa!"  suddenly  cried  Mr. 
Dexter.  "A  despatch  from  Des  Moines  reports 
heavy  gains  for  Grayson  throughout  the  south  and 
west  of  the  state." 

Here  was  a  fresh  breath  of  life,  and  for  a  moment 
they  felt  glad,  but  North  Dakota,  a  state  for  which 

421 


THE   CANDIDATE 

they  had  hoped  but  scarcely  expected,  soon  reported 
against  them.  The  good  news  could  not  last. 

"Anything  more  fjom  Massachusetts?"  asked  Mr. 
Heathcote. 

Mr.  Dexter  was  opening  a  despatch  and  he  gave  a 
gasp  when  he  looked  at  it. 

"Massachusetts  in  doubt!"  he  exclaimed.  "Gray- 
son  makes  heavy  gains  in  the  country  districts  as 
well  as  in  the  cities.  Our  National  Committee  is 
claiming  Massachusetts!" 

There  was  a  burst  of  cheering  in  the  room.  They 
had  never  even  hoped  for  Massachusetts.  From 
first  to  last  it  was  conceded  to  the  enemy. 

"Oh,  if  Massachusetts  only  had  as  many  votes  as 
New  York!"  groaned  Hobart.  "This  is  so  good  it 
can't  be  true!" 

But  Sylvia  smiled  through  her  tears. 

Soon  there  was  another  cheer.  Fresh  despatches 
from  Massachusetts  confirmed  the  earlier  news  and 
made  it  yet  better ;  then  the  state  was  in  doubt,  now 
it  inclined  to  Jimmy  Grayson;  the  gains  came  in, 
steady  and  large. 

"We've  got  it  by  at  least  20,000,"  exclaimed  Mr. 
Dexter,  exultantly.  "It's  a  regular  upset.  Who'd 
have  thought  it?" 

It  was  true.  It  was  known  in  a  quarter  of  an 
hour  that  Massachusetts  had  given  a  majority  of 
25,000  for  Grayson,  and  behind  their  big  sister  came 
New  Hampshire  and  Rhode  Island,  with  small  but 
sure  majorities.  Jimmy  Grayson  had  carried  three 
New  England  states,  when  all  of  them  had  been  con 
ceded  to  the  enemy,  one  of  the  most  surprising 
changes  ever  known  in  a  Presidential  election. 

There  were  repeated  cheers  in  the  room.  Even 
Jimmy  Grayson  was  compelled  to  smile  in  satisfaction. 

423 


THE  CANDIDATE 

But  Harley  did  not  have  hope!.  This,  in  his  opinion, 
was  merely  a  pleasant  incident — it  could  not  have 
much  effect  on  the  result ;  Massachusetts  had  a  large 
vote,  but  those  of  New  Hampshire  and  Rhode  Island 
were  small,  and  there  against  them  stood  the  gigantic 
state  of  New  York,  towering  like  a  mountain.  New 
York  had  the  biggest  vote  of  all,  and  he  did  not  see 
how  it  could  be  overcome. 

Harley  now  and  then  wrote  a  paragraph  of  his 
despatch  to  his  newspaper,  telling  of  the  scene  at  the 
candidate's  house  and  how  he  and  his  friends  looked 
and  talked,  but  it  did  not  take  all  his  time.  By-and- 
by  he  went  out  on  the  steps  to  see  the  crowd  in  the 
streets  and  to  get  the  fresh  air.  The  night  was  cold 
and  raw,  but  its  touch  was  soothing.  His  thoughts 
were  with  Jimmy  Grayson.  He  yet  had  little  hope, 
and  he  was  thinking  of  all  those  gigantic  labors  wasted ; 
it  was  a  case  where  a  man  must  win  or  lose  every 
thing.  At  the  transparency  the  rival  crowds  were 
cheering  or  groaning  according  to  the  news  that  came. 

Harley  turned  back  and  met  Mrs.  Grayson. 

"Tell  me,  Mr.  Harley,"  she  said,  and  her  eyes 
were  eager,  "just  how  the  election  stands  so  far. 
I  know  that  you  will  tell  me  the  truth ;  is  there  really 
as  much  hope  as  the  others  seem  to  feel?" 

Harley  looked  into  her  clear,  brave  eyes,  and  he 
replie*d  honestly: 

"I  think  there  is  some  hope,  Mrs.  Grayson,  but 
not  much.  Too  many  big  states  have  gone  against 
us,  and  we  cannot  offset  big  states  with  little  ones. 
New  York,  Indiana,  Illinois,  Wisconsin,  Alabama  are 
all  in  the  hostile  line." 

"Thank  you  for  the  truth,"  she  said.  "I  can 
stand  it,  and  so  can  Mr.  Grayson." 

But  Harley  was  not  sure.  He  felt  at  times  that 
423 


THE    CANDIDATE 

this  ordeal  was  too  great  for  any  man  or  woman. 
When  he  returned  to  the  room  they  were  announc 
ing  news  from  the  Pacific  coast. 

"We  have  Washington,"  said  Mr.  Dexter;  "and 
Oregon  is  against  us,  but  California  is  in  doubt." 

"But  we  mean  to  have  California,"  said  Sylvia, 
and  the  others  smiled. 

Good  reports  came  from  the  Rocky  Mountain 
region,  all  the  states  there  except  Utah  going  for 
Grayson.  It  had  been  thought  once  by  both  sides 
that  these  doubtful  states  would  decide  the  election, 
but  with  the  great  upset  in  the  East  and  Middle 
West  affairs  took  on  another  complexion,  and  they 
must  make  new  calculations. 

"Has  anything  been  heard  from  Pennsylvania?" 
asked  Mr.  Heathcote. 

Several  laughed,  and  the  laugh  was  significant. 

"Nothing  at  all,"  replied  Mr.  Dexter,  and  there 
was  a  suggestion  of  contempt  in  his  tone;  "but  why 
should  we  want  to  hear  anything?  It's  sure  for  the 
enemy  by  at  least  100,000,  and  he  may  get  200,000. 
Pennsylvania  is  one  state  from  which  I  don't  want 
to  hear  anything  at  all." 

They  laughed  again,  but,  as  nothing  yet  came  from 
Pennsylvania,  Harley's  curiosity  about  it  began  to 
rise.  "Strange  that  we  do  not  hear  anything,"  he 
said;  but  Mr.  Dexter  laughed,  and  promised  to  read 
in  an  extra  loud  tone  the  first  Pennsylvania  bulletin 
they  should  get. 

It  was  nearly  midnight  now  and  the  election  was 
still  undecided ;  midnight  came  and  the  situation  was 
yet  unchanged,  but  a  full  half-hour  later  Mr.  Dexter 
cleared  his  throat  and  said,  in  a  high  voice: 

"Listen,  Mr.  Harley!  Here's  your  first  Pennsyl 
vania  bulletin!" 

424 


THE   CANDIDATE 

He  was  sarcastic  both  in  voice  and  look. 

"Complete  reports  from  Pittsburg,  Alleghany,  and 
their  surrounding  districts  show  remarkable  change. 
This  district  gives  20,000  majority  for  Grayson." 

Then  Mr.  Dexter,  holding  the  telegram  in  his  hand, 
sat  open-mouthed,  barely  realizing  what  he  had  read. 
But  Harley  sprang  up  with  exultant  cry.  For  once 
he  lost  his  self-control. 

"We  are  not  beaten  yet!"  he  cried. 

"We  are  not  beaten  yet!"  echoed  Sylvia. 

They  waited  feverishly  for  more  Pennsylvania 
news,  and  presently  it  came  in  a  despatch  from  Phila 
delphia.  Grayson  had  carried  that  great  city  by  a 
small  majority,  and  the  enemy  was  frightened  about 
the  state.  A  third  despatch  from  Harrisburg,  the 
state  capital,  confirmed  the  news;  the  state  of  Penn 
sylvania,  coming  next  to  New  York  in  the  size  of 
its  vote,  was  in  doubt.  It  was  the  most  astonishing 
fact  of  the  election,  but  every  return  showed  that 
Grayson  had  developed  marvellous  strength  there. 
The  National  Committee  issued  a  bulletin  claiming 
it,  but  the  other  side  claimed  it,  too;  it  would  be  at 
least  two  hours  yet  before  the  claim  could  be  de 
cided,  and  they  must  suffer  in  suspense. 

Harley  and  Hobart  walked  together  into  the  street. 
Harley 's  forehead  was  damp. 

"This  is  getting  on  my  nerves,"  he  said. 

"If  Pennsylvania  goes  for  Grayson,  what  then?'' 
asked  Hobart. 

"It  means  that  Grayson  is  elected;  an  hour  ago  I 
could  not  have  dreamed  of  such  a  thing." 

Down  the  street  the  crowd  was  roaring  and  cheer 
ing,  and  the  roars  and  cheers  were  about  equally 
divided  between  the  two  parties. 

When  they  returned  to  the  room  the  volunteer 
425 


THE    CANDIDATE 

secretary  was  just  announcing  that  Iowa  was  safely 
in  the  Grayson  column.  It  was  conceded  to  him  by 
15,000.  Further  news  from  Pennsylvania  was  in 
decisive,  but  it  continued  good. 

Mrs.  Grayson  was  in  the  room,  and  Harley  looked 
at  her  and  her  husband.  The  faces  of  both  had  be 
come  grave,  and  Harley  knew  why.  The  Presidential 
chair  was  not  wholly  out  of  sight,  after  all,  and  the 
chance  was  sufficient  to  bring  upon  them  both  a  sense 
of  mighty  responsibilities.  There  was  a  great  shout 
down  the  street. 

"They  have  posted  a  bulletin,"  said  Hobart,  who 
was  at  the  window.  "It  says  that  California  has 
gone  for  Grayson  by  10,000,  and  that  all  indications 
point  to  his  carrying  Ohio." 

"I  was  right,  and  we  do  have  California,"  said 
Sylvia. 

Again  Jimmy  Grayson  and  his  wife  exchanged  that 
grave  look.  It  seemed  that  each  was  frightened  a 
little.  But  Mr.  Dexter  did  not  notice  it.  He  was  read 
ing  a  telegram  from  New  York  saying  that  con 
sternation  over  the  news  from  Pennsylvania,  Mas 
sachusetts,  and  Iowa  prevailed  in  the  hostile  ranks; 
they  no  longer  claimed  the  election,  they  merely  as 
serted  that  it  was  in  doubt;  it  was  admitted  that 
while  Goodnight,  Crayon,  and  their  friends  had  taken 
many  votes  from  Jimmy  Grayson,  he  was  making 
up  the  difference,  and  perhaps  more,  elsewhere. 

"If  Jimmy  Grayson  were  to  come  so  near  and  yet 
miss,  it  would  be  more  than  mortal  flesh  could  bear," 
whispered  Hobart. 

"It  would  have  to  be  borne,"  replied  Harley. 

It  was  far  past  one  o'clock  in  the  morning.  The 
room  was  hot  and  close.  The  floor  was  littered  with 
envelopes  and  telegrams.  The  two  lines  of  tele- 

426 


THE    CANDIDATE 

graph-boys  had  trodden  two  trails  in  the  carpet,  and 
Harley  began  to  feel  the  long  strain.  All  the  men 
had  red  eyes  and  black  streaks  under  them.  Yet 
they  were  as  keen  as  ever  to  hear  the  last  detail.  It 
seemed  to  every  one  that  the  fate  of  Jimmy  Gray- 
son  was  now  hanging  in  the  balance ;  a  feather  would 
tip  it  this  way  or  that,  and  the  room  sank  into  an 
unusual  silence,  the  silence  of  painful  suspense. 

There  was  a  long  wait  and  then  came  a  telegram 
rather  thicker  than  the  others.  Somehow  all  of 
them  felt  that  this  told  the  story,  and  the  fingers 
of  Mr.  Dexter  trembled  as  he  tore  open  the  envelope. 
He  paused,  holding  it  a  moment  between  his  fingers, 
and  then,  in  a  quivering  voice,  he  read: 

"Complete  returns  from  the  state  of  Pennsyl 
vania  give  it  to  Gray  son  by  18,000,  and  he  is  chosen 
President  of  the  United  States  by  a  majority  of  36 
in  the  electoral  college.  Our  enemies  concede  their 
defeat.  We  send  our  heartiest  congratulations  to 
Mr.  Gray  son  on  his  victory,  and  on  the  great  cam 
paign  he  made.  Everybody  here  recognizes  that  it 
was  Gray  son  who  won  for  Gray  son." 

It  was  signed  with  the  name  of  the  chairman  of  the 
National  Committee,  and  with  a  deep  "Ah!"  the 
reader  let  it  fall  upon  the  table,  where  it  lay.  Then 
there  was  a  half -minute  of  intense  silence  in  the 
room.  That  for  which  they  had  long  fought  and 
for  which  they  had  scarcely  hoped  had  come  at  the 
eleventh  hour.  Mr.  Grayson  was  the  President-elect. 
They  could  not  speak;  they  were  awed. 

It  was  Mrs.  Grayson  who  first  broke  the  silence. 
She  ran  to  her  husband,  threw  her  arms  around  him, 
and  exclaimed: 

"Oh,  Jimmy!  It  is  almost  too  much  for  us  to 
undertake!" 

427 


THE   CANDIDATE 

But  Jimmy  Grayson  was  not  afraid.  He  stood  up 
and  Harley  saw  a  glow  of  deep  emotion  come  over 
his  face. 

"As  God  is  my  judge,"  he  said,  "I  shall  try  with 
my  utmost  strength  to  fulfil  the  duties  of  this  high 
place." 

Sylvia,  not  knowing  what  else  to  do,  put  her  hand 
in  Harley's;  and  he  held  it. 

There  was  a  tremendous  burst  of  cheering  in  front 
of  the  house,  and  a  band  began  to  play.  Above  the 
music  swelled  a  continuous  roar  for  the  President 
elect,  "Grayson!"  "Grayson!"  "Grayson!"  They 
were  all  for  him  now.  There  was  no  need  for  Harley 
to  wake  up  the  children;  the  thunders  of  applause 
already  brought  them,  triumphing  in  a  result  of 
which  they  had  never  felt  any  doubt. 

"You  will  have  to  speak  to  the  people,  Mr.  Gray- 
son,"  said  Mr.  Dexter.  "It  is  their  right.  You  are 
no  longer  a  free  man;  you  belong  to  the  nation  now." 

The  President-elect  went  out  on  the  veranda  and 
spoke  to  them  with  a  certain  solemnity  and  majesty 
while  they  listened  in  respectful  silence.  Meanwhile 
telegrams  of  congratulation  were  pouring  into  the 
house  from  all  parts  of  the  world,  and  out  in  the 
distant  mountains  men  came  down  to  the  camps  and 
spoke  to  each  other  about  the  President-to-be. 

Harley's  last  despatch  was  sent,  the  crowd  was 
gone,  the  other  correspondents  were  on  their  way  to 
the  hotel,  and  the  people  were  turning  out  the  lights, 
but  he  yet  lingered  at  the  Grayson  home.  It  was 
Jimmy  Grayson  who  asked  him  to  wait  a  moment, 
and  they  stood  alone  on  the  dark  veranda. 

"Harley,"  said  Jimmy  Grayson,  and  there  was 
much  feeling  in  his  voice,  "you  have  been  the  best 

428 


THE    CANDIDATE 

friend  I  ever  had,  and  I  am  so  selfish  that  I  do  not 
want  to  lose  you.  Stay  with  me;  be  my  secretary. 
In  these  later  days  the  office  of  the  President's  sec 
retary  has  grown  to  be  a  big  one.  I  think  that  you 
are  the  best  man  in  the  world  for  it,  and  if  I  am  re- 
elected  you  shall  go  into  the  Cabinet.  You  will  be 
old  enough  then.  Remember,  Harley,  that  it  is  I 
who  ask  a  favor  now,  and  it  is  for  you  to  grant  it." 

The  hands  of  the  two  strong  men  met  in  a  strong 
grasp. 

"I  accept  the  offer,"  said  Harley. 

The  President-elect  turned  away,  faded  into  the 
darkness  of  his  own  house,  and  another  figure  took  his 
place.  A  small,  warm  hand  slipped  into  Harley 's, 
and  he  held  it  fast. 

"What  was  he  saying  to  you?"  asked  Sylvia. 

"He  was  asking  me  to  be  his  secretary." 

"And  your  reply?" 

"I  hesitated  and  asked  for  a  bribe." 

"Oh,  John!" 

"I  said  that  if,  one  month  from  to-day  and  with 
the  assistance  of  a  minister,  he  would  give  you  to 
me  forever,  I  would  take  the  place." 

"What  did  he  say  then?" 

"He  said  the  price  was  high,  but  I  could  have  it. 
And  we  shall  all  be  together  again  for  four  years 
more,  and  perhaps  eight." 

Her  eyes,  very  close  to  his,  were  shining  through 
a  mist  of  happy  tears,  and,  standing  there  at  the 
doorstep,  he  kissed  her  in  the  darkness. 


THE    END 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

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